


The Master's Bride

by Belle_Lestrange101



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Anger, Belle is an inventor, Enchanted Rose, Enchantress, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, First Meetings, Gaston Being Gaston (Disney), Illnesses, Magic, Master/Pet, Nursing, Original Universe, Runaway, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Sickness, Slow Build, Tale as Old as Time, Temper Tantrums, The Enchanted Forest, backbone, beast is ill, bid for freedom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Lestrange101/pseuds/Belle_Lestrange101
Summary: My own retelling of the Beauty and the Beast story (although I did like the part about Belle being an inventor).Belle is a young girl who lives in a small town, working to teach young boys how to read and write at Sunday school. Outside of church, she works tirelessly to care for her Papa in their crumbing farmhouse as best she can. Taking any odd-job she can to make ends meet, it's no wonder that people dismiss her as what her reputation claims she is. A whore.One day an announcement is posted up in the village square; every eligible Maiden between the ages of 16-25 shall put their name forth for special selection by the Lord and Lady of the nearby Castel Da Firenze. The conditions are that she will leave her current life behind forever. Not thinking she has a hope in Hell, Belle sends off her scroll and continues with her work.When she is selected at the end of March no one is more shocked than Belle. However, she will only go to the castle as long as her conditions are met.How will she cope when she comes face-to-face with the truth behind the castle?[Rating will change in later chapters.]





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my own original retelling of Beauty and the Beast. I am taking some inspiration from various works, including Disney, although names may be changed.

**_Prologue_ **

 

 

 

_In a kingdom not long ago there lived a young Prince in a shining castle. Though he had everything his heart desired he was cold, cruel and selfish. For years, the royal family turned a blind eye upon his ways and thus, encouraged its growth, seeping like a poison through him and clouding his mind to any life beyond parties, money and fine wine.  
_

_That is, until the eve before his coronation.  
_

_An old beggar woman came to the castle; a stark contrast to all that glittered and gleamed with gold. In offer for shelter from the snowstorm that raged outside, she offered him a simple rose, her only worldly possession.  
_

_Repulsed by her haggard appearance the Prince sneered and turned her away. However, she warned him not to be deceived by appearances for true beauty is found within. The young Prince through his head back, laughing at the bent old crone, encouraging those behind him to engage also. He dismissed her again and turned his back on her to return to his celebration.  
_

_This was his night and nothing would draw attention away from him._

_Silence befell the castle as all the light from the sun, moon and stars melted away the old woman’s cloak and wrinkles, leaving nothing behind but a beautiful Enchantress._

_Staggered by her change the Prince begged for forgiveness but it was too late._

_She had seen the bitter poison within his heart, and declared that there was no love there, only darkness, cruelty and hostility.  
_

_As punishment for his wicked ways, she cursed the castle and the inhabitants therein. Until he could learn to love another, and earn her love in return, by the time the final rose petal fell, he would be doomed to remain a Beast forever. If he was unable to lift the curse, then the castle and everyone inside, would be lost to time and forgotten._

_As the years passed by, the curse grew stronger around the castle and the Beast fell into despair._

_He had tried numerous ways to end the curse's hold over the castle and his servants, however as time wore on his attempts grew more desperate until he gave up entirely. It was only when his servant's devised a way to refine his perilous searches, did he finally accept his fate to be alone forever._

_How could he ever fall in love with a girl if he couldn't even recognise himself in the mirror?_

_And to love him in return?_

_He could never subject another living person to this fate, for it was a fate worse than death._


	2. Chapter I

**_Chapter I_ **

 

 

Pinching the rosy cheeks of little Aurelio, Belle ushered him out of the door of the Sunday schoolroom and started collecting the small reading books to prop them back on the bookshelf. Mass had ended now and there was nothing more for her to do except reset the schoolroom to its usual setting. It felt strange to her to be in any way responsible for the education of the towns’ children even if it was confined only to Sunday mornings. The one thing that could not be denied of Belle was that she loved to read and had an excellent memory. Of course, this only meant for her to read the Bible over and over against and aid the Pastor in his teachings.

With a resigned sigh, Belle carried the pile of leather-bound Bibles over to a narrow shelf in the corner of the room and lined the books up against the wall. The leather was soft and pliable beneath her fingers. The smell of old paper was somewhat comforting. Turning back to the pale room, she set about making sure that all the desks were aligned and tidied. Pastor Parisi had retired to his office at the back of the Church and was, no doubt, going over next week’s sermons. Belle didn’t mind so much. It meant that she was able to organise the room as it should be, before going out into the hubbub of the town square.

Today was market day, and she never relished the thought of walking through the throng of people in order to get to the small farmhouse she shared with her Papa. Something inside her twisted as she stopped mid-sweep, the broom handle clutched tight between her hands. He’d barely made it through the winter and his medicine rations were growing short once again. Belle had been saving up as much as possible for when the doctor came back into town. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she made short work of sweeping the last of the debris out of the back door before slipping out of her dark grey, shapeless smock and retrieved her own threadbare cloak from the cupboard.  


The cold sunshine fell onto her cheeks as she closed the schoolroom doors and made her way along the gravel path towards the town centre. Since she had a little bit of time, she decided to run a few errands along the way. As usual, the townsfolk were already herding around like sheep, haggling bargains into the crisp air, their efforts rising up in small clouds. Belle ignored all of it, though, in favour to duck into the narrow bookshop.

The bell above the door chimed as she slipped into the cool, dark building.

Usually, Mr. Trunell was behind the front desk, ready to chat to anyone who ventured into his shop. Not that many of the townsfolk bothered with books. Beyond reading the Bible, learning the names of countries on a map and the names of what they were going to eat from the stalls, they didn’t see much need for reading.

Today, however, he wasn’t perched at the desk with his nose in a book or one of the educational leaflets that were often sent from the larger cities.

Belle didn’t mind. The shop was always quiet and calm despite its location on the very edge of the square. It was as though the very walls themselves couldn’t stand the noise out there, and did everything possible to block it out. Taking her hood down, the raked any stray hairs behind her ears and walked behind the small counter to access the few shelves of books beyond.

As she scored the bookshelves for anything new, she wondered about any books that could be good for helping around the house. There were just too many jobs to do as well as looking after her father and doing the odd jobs to raise money for their livelihood. They couldn’t afford to pay for someone to come in and clean and fix the broken equipment that needed fixing, not even once a month! None of her current options had profited her well. She’d gone without three solid meals a day for almost five weeks now.

Their livestock was quickly dwindling. She just needed something to help her with her father’s forgotten inventions.

Since he’d been ill, Belle had read through all of his books and had begun tinkering around with any forgotten inventions of his. She had surprised herself in finding that she was almost as gifted as her Papa. That being said, she wasn’t about to buy any workmen’s books. The town would catch wind of it before the sun had set. If she wanted anything specific she would have needed to speak with Mr Trunell and ask him to wrap said books before she left with them. Or order them in from the next town over. All of that would cost money, though. Money she didn’t have.

With a sigh, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and straightened up. There was nothing in here for her today. Tightening her cloak around her shoulders, Belle reluctantly stepped back out into the cold air.

 

 

On the outskirts of town, over a small stream, their little farmhouse perched quite merrily against the backdrop of mountains and the valley that dipped from the back of their fields. It was, unfortunately, small; it had two bedrooms upstairs, with a kitchen and resting area combined downstairs and a small washroom out the back. It was tight and narrow, but it was home.

Pushing open the front door, ignoring how chipped and marred the old wood was, Belle hung her cloak on the hooks behind, before heading over to the fire. It had gotten low since she’d been out that morning. She warmed her feet and hands up, shocked at how numb she got when she’d only been outside for a few hours. Once she was able to move her hands again, she went over to the old wooden table and started unloading the meagre pack she’d bought from the market; a half loaf of bread, two rabbits and some more needles and thread. It wasn’t a lot, but she needed to buy things as and when they were needed. For now, mending holes in both their clothes was a priority as Winter was just around the corner.

“ _Arabelle? Is that you?_ ” her Papa’s voice called from upstairs.

“Coming Papa!” she called back.

Before she hurried up to him, she poured a bowl of the warmed chicken soup she’d let sit by the stove, then poured some milk and sweetened it with honey. Careful not to trip, she carried the tray up to her father. Backing through the narrow door, she smiled warmly as she sat down on the bed. “How’re you feeling, Papa?” she asked, as she set the tray on the side table.

A raw, hacking cough filled the air between them. When his spoke, his voice was like gravel on metal; “Arabelle … the doctor … is he coming?”

She touched his hand. He was clammy to the touch. “He’ll be here within the week, Papa. Just hold on until he does.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. It was slick with a thin sheen of sweat. “Can you manage to eat by yourself?”

He nodded his head before choking on a cough. He waved her away when she tried to help.

“I can manage, dear girl,” he grunted as he sat up a little higher on his pillows. The strain in his muscles was growing as he weakened. Being bedridden was something he’d never expected to face, not even as an ageing man.

Belle sat back, defeated. She wrung her hands out of sight in her lap as she watched her Papa lift spoonful after shaking spoonful to his mouth. Pressing her lips together, her heart heavy in her chest, she said, “I’m going outside to chop some firewood. Shall I build a fire for you? Your skin is far too cold.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” her father said, his eyes watery.

Belle shook her head, “Of course not, Papa. You just eat and rest. I’ll tend to the wood.” With one last stroke of his brow, Belle stood up from his bedside and made her way back downstairs.  


 

Chopping wood was tiresome but she didn’t mind the labour. As far as she was concerned, manual labour and the pain that came with it, meant that she was doing all in her physical power to help aid her Papa. As soon as he was well again she could set her sights a little higher in life, but all that was in the future.

For now, he needed firewood.

Once the fire in his room was lit and casting long shadows along the walls, Belle was careful not to disturb him as she took the half-eaten bowl of soup away. He had fallen asleep not too long after she’d left, it would seem. She left the milk. He’d be thirsty from all that coughing.

She polished off the rest of the soup herself, despite how cold it had grown. With a grimace, she placed it in the stone-cut sink before heading down into their converted wine-cellar. It was far colder down there. Once upon a time, this had been a place to store hay for the cows and horses. Now, it was for where their inventions sat, waiting to be unleashed on the world and gathering rust from months of disuse and ill-treatment.

At the moment she was working on a strange device that she was hoping would heat all the water in their house, rather than having to boil small pans full and then carry it indoors. If she was right then she could run hot baths for her father and get rid of his colds quicker than ever before! Perhaps she could even make sketches for another machine she had been thinking about, one that would be able to wash all their dirty clothes in one go, as opposed to small bags full at a time.

Biting her bottom lip she tied her long, dark hair back with loose ribbons, tied an apron over her dusty, floral print dress and slithered down onto the cobblestone floor. The iciness bit through her dress and froze her nervous system. She let out a shuddering breath, desperately trying to remember a time when warmth had been a comfort as opposed to a luxury. There was adjustments needed underneath her current project; with a crudely cast metal mask strapped around her head and spanner in her hand, she set to work.

 

It wasn’t until the howling of the wolves from the forest drifted in through the window did she sit up too fast, almost banging her head on the metal atrocity. “Oh dear, it’s gotten so late!” She worried her lip as she slid out from underneath the contraption. In the frigid air, she took off her apron and dusted her hands on an old rag. The wooden table was older than the one in their kitchen, probably one of the oldest things they owned. The lantern she’d lit an hour ago sputtered weakly as she let out shaky breaths, trying to rub some feeling back into her numb hands. Taking the lantern in hand, she made her way up the dark, narrow staircase and into their kitchen.

Nothing stirred in the house.

The bitter wind howled outside.

Her father was still asleep upstairs. She lit the fires in the hearth, rubbing warmth into her cold limps. She set about cutting up the remains of a cold chicken, small potatoes and what was left in their vegetable patch. The broth was weak as she stirred everything in the iron pot on the hearth, but it was the best that could be done for the chicken. Her father had to have his dinner in bed and once he’d eaten and fallen asleep again, Belle returned downstairs to eat her own, cold dinner in front of the fireplace with a book in her lap. As she sipped her tea and read, she couldn’t help but mentally count down the days until the doctor came back into town.

Only twelve more days and she could get the medicine.

She had butterflies already.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a little short, but they will get longer when the plot develops. I'm currently writing up chapter 10, but I want to pace the story out a little. x


	3. Chapter II

**_Chapter II_ **

 

For twelve days Belle did her usual; she did her chores around the homestead, cut the grass, churned the sods, cleaned the house, and took care of her Papa. All of this and then her odd jobs for the townsfolk to bring in money, left her completely ragged and worn out. The lack of food wasn’t helpful to her, as she exhausted every ounce of energy in order to fulfil everything that needed doing. She frequently sold her eggs in the market most mornings, except for Sundays, and offered to do some mending children’s clothes for some of the families. It was barely any money at all, but she needed to scrape every coin together if she was going to continue helping her Papa.

Soon the winter season would be upon them and food would become scarcer, warmth a thing of distant memory and company would have completely dissolved into the wind.

Finally, the day arrived when the doctor was due. Belle awoke extra early, combed her hair back into a pretty bun and made sure her dress was ironed and wrinkle-free. She’d been awake since before first light. She looked quite smart as she looked at herself in the long mirror in the washroom. Feeling almost regal with herself, she hurried out with her cloak pulled tight around her. The air was still hostile and bitter and ate through her dress and undergarments.

There was already a small crowd in town by the time Belle crossed the river. As she crossed over the other bank, the sun crawled up into the pale sky. She edged closer to the back of the crowd and kept her hood low over her eyes. The doctor was expected imminently. She felt her belly stir as a familiar wooden carriage pulled up, the sound of twinkling charms on the air. She could imagine the hundreds of bottles and potions knocking together as the horse eased the carriage over the cobblestone roads. The doctor himself, was a tall, wiry man, with wisps of white hair attached to his head as though he were wearing a cloud for a hat. Belle often had to stop herself from giggling whenever he came into town. It wasn’t that he looked particularly funny, it was simply that he looked as though he’d come down from Heaven. Her father often warned her that her imagination could be frowned upon if she voiced too many of her ideas out loud.

It wasn’t proper for a young woman of her calibre to be so fanciful.

“Okay folks, no need to push!” the doctor called out to the large crowd gathered before him. “There’s plenty for everyone!”

The crowd didn’t care. They all wanted to be served first just in case the unthinkable happened. They were all ailing, some had dying ones at home, and they needed their medicine. Belle tried not to let the larger-set women push and shove her around. After-all, she’d gotten there especially early just to get more of her father’s medicine. Just because the other woman was taller, wider and heavier didn’t mean she was going to get served before she was due. If you turned up late, that was your own issue. Belle had even brought the old bottles so as to help the doctor know what to grab from his stores.

_“You there!”  
_

She flinched. He was pointing at her. She hurried forward, the bottles heavy and clinking in her pockets. “Thank you, sir, I just need a refill of my father’s medicine.”  
He narrowed his eyes. “Did I serve you when I was here before?” She nodded hurriedly, her body shuddering through the thin cloak. “Okay what did he have last time?” She took the bottles out of her apron. Her hands shook as he took them from her. His hands were warm. His milky eyes lit up as he read the labels. “Ah, yes, I only have a limited supply of this now. You’re lucky I spotted you.” Relief rushed through her. “That’ll be eighteen gold pieces.”

And just like that, she felt cold run through her. Her smile fell into the gutter. “I … I’m sorry? Last time it was only nine gold pieces.”

“As I said, my stores are limited.” He gave a somewhat apologetic look.

“Well … how many bottles can I get for …” she quickly counted the coins in her hand, her worn woollen gloves looking meagre as she felt the breath and agitated gaze of the ground watching her. “Twelve?”

He heaved a sigh, his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, _mademoiselle_ –”

“Please?” she begged. “It’s for my Papa. We don’t have any more and he really needs this. _Please?_ ”

His shoulders slumped. “I can’t give you the full three bottles. I can give you two, and a sachet of herbs to mix with his food.”

Belle felt her heart sink. Her father needed the three bottles. How was he to get well without them? The three bottles weren’t going to last him long. “I … I suppose if that’s all you can give me,” she murmured, resigned.

“I’m sorry, but that’s all I can give you at this time.”

She nodded her head, and handed over her coins just as a voice called out of the din of the crowd. _“Arabelle don’t you dare walk away!”_

A few heads turned towards the voice. Belle inwardly cringed, shying away from the looming figure of Grégoire, one of the towns’ lead huntsmen. In thick dark clothes and a blood red woollen cape, he drifted through the crowd as though he could pass through stone. His square jaw jutted out and his brilliant blue eyes stared down at them. His intense gaze focused on the doctor. “Sir, this young lady will take all three bottles and an extra one for your rudeness!”

Belle cringed, cowering away from the attention she received. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need charity and she didn’t need this unwanted act of self-indulgent heroics just to get the medicine. It made her stomach run cold.

The doctor cocked a bored eyebrow up at the man. “Oh, _will_ she now?”

Grégoire pulled out a sack of twenty gold coins out of the folds of his cloak and dropped them onto the small wooden mount by the doctor’s feet. “Yes. Now wrap them up quickly. You have a lot of impatient customers waiting behind me.”

The doctor greedily swiped the coins off the mount and into his pocket. He rummaged around in his stores before he drew out four brown glass bottles, wrapped them in parcel-paper and tied them up for Belle. She barely had the chance to thank him before a strong arm turned her around and hard muscles guided her back through the crowd and into a quieter part of town, further away from her home.

“Grégoire, that was too generous of you!” Belle couldn’t help herself. Despite how pompous the man was, he had just helped save her father’s life. She, in spite of herself and everything she believed in, felt indebted to him in that moment.

“There is no need to thank me, Belle. I merely did what any nobleman should do.”

“How on earth can I repay you?” she shook her head in disbelief as she felt the weight of the bottles dragging her skirts down awkwardly. She had to cross her arms around her bodice in order to keep the ties from snapping. “Honestly, I am at a loss. I have nothing of value to give to you. It took me months just to get those twelve coins!”

Grégoire shook his head and gave a deep chuckle. “Belle, Belle, Belle, you underestimate yourself and your potential! You’re wasted away taking care of your father.”

“If I didn’t, who else would?” she asked tightly, her desperation, relief and anger twisting her stomach into tight knots.

“All I am saying, is if you had gotten married by now your husband could help provide for you and help take care of your father.”

Belle offered a wan smile, though the crisp air chipped it off her chapped lips. “Grégoire, no one would want to marry me. I am not a valuable bride. I could bring nothing to the marriage other than waxing floors.” A part of her believed what she was saying, to an extent. The other part of herself was desperate to run away from this conversation. She had long since spurned Grégoire’s rather obvious advances, but now that she was alone with him in the quiet parts of town, she had to keep her words just so. The last thing she needed was for him to lose his temper and lash out at her.

“Belle you are a fine young woman. You’re beautiful and know your way around a house. The dedication you show towards your father is admirable and is proof that you’d be a wonderful wife and mother.”

She blanched a little. She felt uncomfortable with his praise, as bigoted as it was coming from him.

“I really should be getting back to my Papa,” she finally said, stopped and ducking out from under his arm.

She made to walk past him and make her way across the square towards the bridge. She didn’t like the idea of leaving her Papa on cold days for too long. It wasn’t yet nine, and he would probably still be asleep but she still worried that he couldn’t that he’d feel uncomfortable. Not without a fire going, at least. Before she’d even left his side, she felt her arm grabbed through the cloak. The gritty stone of the building grazed her back as Grégoire pressed up against her, his calloused hands slipping around her waist, looking for the ties of her dress.

“Grégoire, please!” Belle whimpered, her skin breaking through the thin fabric of her cloak and dress. It was a cold, hard pain that ate through her. His hands were warm and eager, hunting, clawing at anything loose around the bodice of her dress. She wriggled around, twisting and turning, her back already stinging.

“I just paid you,” he sneered against her ear, his breath hot and wet.

Fear gripped her heart.

She struggled even more, tears stinging her eyes. A harsh wind blew and whipped loose hairs into her eyes. Grégoire bent low and lifted the skirts of her dress. It wasn’t a struggled like it would have been for most other girls. Belle had nothing but her thin undergarments to protect her. She clamped her thighs together and buckled her knees. She must have caught him in the jaw, because he rolled out from under her skirts with a groan, his hand rubbing his jaw.

Her knee was throbbing but she ignored it.

Clutching the bottles of medicine to her chest, she hurried out of the side-street and made her way towards the bridge, tears in her eyes, her face flushed with humiliation and shame.

 

 

The cold air stung her lungs as she hurried up through the main gate and up the stairs into their house. She slammed the door shut behind her and quickly fastened all the locks in place. Her heart was beating heavily. The house was almost as cold as outside, her breath rising in small puffs of white vapour. Backing away from the door, she bumped into the table and almost screamed. With her hand clamped tightly over her mouth, she drew in deep breaths and tried to calm herself. With a loud sniff, she ripped her cloak off and tossed it over the chair by the dead hearth. Tear tracks had dried to strips of salt down her cheeks. As she gasped for air, she struggled to concentrate on what needed doing.

She was cold, she was tired, she’d just been assaulted and above all else, she was alone.

A cold tremor ran down her spine.

Lurching over to the kitchen, she hunched over in the sink and threw-up. Mostly bile and stomach acid dribbled down into the sink. It twisted her stomach and left her feeling hollow as she braced herself against the cold stone.

“What am I going to do?” she murmured, shivering as a draft crept in from under the door.

The sun had barely broken over the mountaintops and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. Brushing her loose hairs out of her eyes, she made her way over to the wash-room and glimpsed at her reflection through the gloom. Her skin was too pale, her features were gaunt, and her hair was now a black, frazzled mess whereas earlier it had looked almost elegant. Her dress was now fraying at the edges where she’d hurried against some bramble bushes, not looking where she’d been running. Fingering the bodice, tears brimmed in her eyes as she felt one of the tied had snapped free completely, leaving the edges of the bodice spread.

With trembling fingers, she unfastened the other tie of her dress and let it slip down around her ankles. The warmth of the cloth felt nice on her cold, scratched legs. As tense as she was, she turned around and peered over her shoulder. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream. Fresh tears came to her eyes. Her back looked almost mutilated; of course it was only a series of rough grazes, nothing too deep, but those scratches symbolised everything Grégoire had intended to do to her.

All for twenty gold coins.

Is that all she was worth to someone? Even the homestead was worth more, and it wasn’t in the best condition. A hot tear ran down the length of her face and dripped down onto her bare chest. She shuddered and quickly covered herself again. There was no need to look at herself. No one else would, so why should she? With tears lodged in her throat, she gathered herself together and tried to remember how to smile before going up to her bedroom. Before she did anything else, she needed to change out of her dress and throw it in the fireplace.

The last thing she wanted was for her Papa to think something was wrong.

 

 

Later that night, by the glow of ten candles, Belle tested out her little heating device for the first time. She’d only installed it in the wash-room because that was the only area it was needed. It clunked and gurgled loudly at first, so loudly she feared that she’d wake her Papa. With her heart in her throat, she strained her ears in the doorway and eventually determined that he was still asleep. She tested running the water first through a pipe connected to the well at the back of the house. It had been tricky to hoe the earth and knock holes through the walls, but that was one good reason to have the wash-room on ground-level. At first only cold water came out, and Belle felt a sinking sensation that she’d, once again, failed.

She sat on the edge of the tub with a heavy heart watching as the water sluiced out. She pumped the handle a few more time to get a heavier flow but otherwise, didn’t move. Her disappointment was getting too much to bear. The weight of the entire day started to settle like a heavy sack over her shoulders. She was just about to give up a let the water stop on its own when, after a few more spurts and spluttering, steam started to rise up slowly from the bathtub. Goosepimples rose up on her skin.

Had she done it? Had she truly invented something worth having in every home?

Before she allowed herself to feel any elation in the moment, Belle quickly took her filthy, oil-stained clothes off and placed them in a neat pile on the chair in the corner. She stood, naked and fidgeting for a while, before turning the taps off and gingerly stepping into the tub. It was hot –almost too hot –however considering she’d known nothing but relentless cold for most of the last few months, she revelled in how it scalded her. Perhaps it could even scald off the dirtiness she felt from Grégoire’s hands and lips? She winced as she sank back into the water, the welts on her back hissing as they were cleansed. She wanted the water to burn away any grime, dirt or presence from another person that may have imprinted upon her.

Drawing in deep breaths she let her mind wonder as she unwound her hair from its braid and soaked it in the water and sank even lower, the water rising up around her chest. It felt so strange, almost as though she were nestled in a hot spring in some far away mountain pass, away from everything she knew and loved –and revelling in the isolation. Somewhere away from the pain and turmoil, from the sickness and raw, chapped skin that broke and bled whenever she worked.

Finally, she let the tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, so it got a little intense here :O I had to swap 'Gaston's' name to something still French, but not 'Gaston'.  
> What did you guys think???


	4. Chapter III

**_Chapter III_ **

 

 

 

Grunting, Belle dug the hoe repeatedly into the solid ground.

Small flecks of dirt chipped away, but other than that, the earth was frozen solid.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse since the doctor left, and Belle was forced to dig out her thicker clothes. This included itchy, woollen undergarments that left her scratching and her skin bleeding even more. They were very unflattering, but then no one was around to see her. Her hands were already red and chapped from the hours spent trying to make the ground habitable for the following years produce. Scraping black hair out of her eyes, she tried to focus on the task at hand. It was proving difficult. They used to have a boy from the village come by and help, but they hadn’t been able to afford to pay him for over a year. He’d still offered to help out, but neither Belle nor the lad’s mother, felt comfortable with the charity.

So now, she had to hoe on her own.

Ever since then, a stigma had befallen the homestead.

They were poor yet didn’t seem to starve and die. Where did the money come from? Then the rumours about her had started, untrue rumours. The town gossips made easy work for said rumours to spread into every household. Belle was grateful that her Papa paid no heed to such trivial things. She was grateful beyond words that she needn’t worry about her Papa banishing her from her home. She couldn’t stomach the idea that everyone, for the last year, had thought she was a prostitute, selling her body for small pocket-change in order to scrape a decent meal onto the table once a week.

It broke her heart to think about it and remember the day she’d heard of the rumours. That was one of the reasons no young lads offered to help her anymore. None of the mother’s wanted their good little boys becoming a whore’s trinket, and even the ‘bad’ boys didn’t bother with her anymore once they saw the size of the scythe and knife she kept strapped at her waist. It was all she could do to defend herself.

  
By the time the pale, wintry sun reached its zenith, Belle wiped the cold sweat that soaked her dress from her brow and let out a sigh. It plumed up into the air. Enough was enough, the earth was too hard. She’d wasted too much of her time on it. Perhaps next month would prove better. She shivered violently as she made her way across the field, unwinding her headscarf from about her ears. Belle let her unkempt hair cascade down her back as she made to shelter herself in the back doorway.

It provided little shelter.

The farmland was bleak and depressing like the rest of the world. Winter was a bitter season; she’d long since forgotten the beauty it could hold. The fields were a hard dark brown with a small glittering coat of frost. One time she would have found it enchanting, however now it only served to remind her of how harsh and brutal the upcoming months were to be. With a heavy heart, she returned into the warmth of the house.

 

 

Putting the kettle on the fire, she changed out of her work-clothes and wrapped up in a thick, wool dress, a pair of hose and a heavy shawl. Pouring two cups of tea, she carried one upstairs to wake her Papa. In the last week, he had responded well to having his proper dosage again. Belle didn’t dare to hope, yet whenever he smiled at her, she felt her stomach flip with relief. 

“Good morning Arabelle,” he smiled over at her as she walked into his room.

She grimaced at him. “Honestly, Papa, we don’t need to be formal. It’s only us here.” She settled down beside him, the bed sagging under her added weight, handing him his drink. From her apron she brought out a small bottle and poured some of the medicine into the cup and stirred it with a spoon. “Make sure you drink all of it,” she said, taking a sip from her own cup. 

“You are such a bossy young woman,” he commented between sips, admiration in his pale eyes. “Anyone would think you were the parent.”

“I haven’t the age nor the experience,” she teased. 

“Dear child, you are almost eighteen now. What’ll you do in the summer months?”

Belle pursed her lips.

The summer months were, by tradition, a formal season for when all the young women in the village, from all classes, were addressed by the village council to be betrothed. It was a dull, arduous process which Belle detested. Partly because she didn’t like attention. The following summer, Belle would be added to the list and would be paraded around town. Not that it’d make any difference; all her dresses were threadbare and had holes and patches in them. None were worthy or anything to be gloated about.

A sudden image of Grégoire tearing at her skirts flashed through her mind, and her stomach clenched in fear.

“Belle?”

She started. Her father’s hand on her wrist was warm for once. She looked up into his wrinkled face and offered a tight smile. “I’m just tired, Papa. The earth’s too hard to hoe.”

“I keep telling you not to bother. We’ll manage just fine. I’ll be well enough within a month or two and then you won’t have to do all this on your own.”

Belle leaned in and gave him a hug. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, she wanted to, it had just been a desperately long and lonely winter. She didn’t know how many more weeks they could survive on the measly pay she collected from the eggs each and mending each week. With a sigh, she leaned back. “Maybe we should think about selling some of the animals?” she suggested. 

“We can’t sell many more,” her father sighed. “We have to eat as well.”

“I know, I know.” She rubbed at her cheeks trying to force some colour and feeling back into her hollow features. “Maybe … Maybe if I ask for more work in town? At the seamstress’ maybe? Or the bakery? If there’s anything I can do to get us by, I’ll do it.” Even as she said it, she knew how unlikely it would be. Not with the gossip still biting at her heels the way it did whenever she turned her back. It was a wonder the Pastor even let her step foot into the church, much along aid with the teaching of the boys’.

Unless it was a _Mary Magdalene_ situation.

Her father shook her head. “I worry about you,” he said. His blunt honesty shook her. “I worry that you spend too much time here with me. I worry that you’re not out there, enjoying your life. You should be going out, wearing pretty frocks and laughing, not scrubbing away in our kitchen and making sure I take my medicine.” He gave her a sad smile, squeezing her hand. “Do you know how long it’s been since I heard you laugh?”

She shook her head. She didn’t want to know, either. She couldn’t even remember it herself.

He gave her wrist a squeeze. “Why don’t you go into town? Maybe get another book or something?”

“Why?” she asked.

“Just do something for yourself. No worrying. I can manage here for a bit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, if you help me downstairs, I’ll have everything in reach. Then you don’t have to worry about me.”

With a frown, she nodded. “Okay, but you need to wrap up warm. It really is awful weather out there.”

Seeing that there was no arguing, her father nodded and smiled softly as he watched his daughter bundle him up in extra hose, trousers and soft, indoor shoes. Belle tried not to notice how much her legs wobbled underneath her as she supported her father. She knew they had both lost weight over the winter, which made them both more susceptible to illnesses.

They took their time going down the stairs.

By the time she had gotten her father seated in the rocking chair by the fireplace, Belle felt winded. Her cheeks were clammy and flushed and her head was spinning a little. She inched nearer the fire for warmth.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she asked once again as she drew her cloak from where it had been warming by the hearth, and wrapped it around herself. The set-up she’d given to her father was quaint; he was in the rocking chair with a blanket over his lap, a pillow behind his back and a small table next to him, complete with a fresh cup of warm milk and a few of their books.

He smiled up at her, “I’ll be fine. Go and get some fresh air.”

Belle bit her tongue in reply. She’d been outside all morning. Her raw, blood speckled hands were proof of that. Instead, she smiled tightly before crossing the room and walking out of the front door.

 

 

 

The whole world seemed to be suffering from the bleak weather; the air was thick with a fog that seemed to hug close to the pavements. Belle could see just fine, as long as she wasn’t trying to look too far into the distance. Tucking her hair under her hood, she made her way through the streets, keeping her head towards the ground. Her ankles felt weak as she manoeuvred over the cobbles. She didn’t want to invite any unwanted conversation today. By the time she reached the bookshop, she felt as though her legs were about to fall off. Perhaps an early night was in order after all that hoeing?

The bell chimed as she entered.

Mr. Trunell wasn’t at the front desk again. She frowned but moved on around the small counter regardless. Instead of going over to the books on cooking, cleaning or farming, she steered towards the small bookcase that held the fantasy stories she admired so much. Not many people enjoyed such fanciful things, however she knew the children at Sunday school liked some eccentric stories to sink their teeth into when the Pastor wasn’t teaching.

There were only about twenty books on said shelf, and she’d read every single one of them.

As she bent down to thumb through the thin tomes in front of her, she felt a chill ripple through the air. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end as the door clanged shut behind her. A shadow fell over the books, making it impossible to read the faded gold lettering.

“I thought I saw you come in here,” a deep voice breathed next to her ear.

She straightened up, wincing as she found herself corned in beside the bookcase. The wood bit through her clothes and irritated the grazes lining her back. “G-Grégoire? What’re you doing in here? I didn’t think _you_ could read?” she managed to sound both waspish and frazzled all at once.

He didn’t seem to hear her. “So, I’m surprised you can even show your face in town after you spurred my advances.”

“You didn’t advance on me,” she hissed eyes darting towards the windows and the door, “You attacked me!”

He rolled his blue eyes at her. It was as though he had bled all the blue from the sky just so that his eyes shone that little bit brighter. It made her feel sick. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Ever since that notice was posted in the town square, none of you maidens want to look at us noblemen anymore.”

Frowning, she asked, “What’re you talking about? What notice?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Whether he believed her or not, she couldn’t say, but instead he changed the subject. “You shouldn’t be out of doors alone. Let me escort you home. Your father must be worried about you.”

“No thank you,” she said, crisply. “I can find my own way.” Straightening her cloak down the length of her dress, she managed to duck around him and head for the door.

Just as she opened the door, his voice carried through the cool, damp silence; “All it’d take is one word for me to ruin you. Who would they believe; a young nobleman in his prime? Or a scrubby little farm-girl with a whore’s reputation?”

Bristling with fear and loathing, Belle glared straight through him, imagining she could set his insides on fire, before she hurried outside, the door banging shut behind her.

As she moved on toward the town square she felt a sick fear creep through her and settle like a weight in her stomach. She knew the word he meant and if anyone were to find the ruined undergarments and see her back, they would only assume the worst.

_Harlot._

She was no such thing. She was a good girl and always had been. She went to church every Sunday and said her prayers every night. She never stole, never lied and had never cheated anyone out of what was rightfully theirs. She had been living a hard life recently yet had never resorted to anything wrong in order to keep her and her Papa afloat. She’d simply done what anyone in town would do; work until her very bones were worn and tired.

Yet, no one would care about that as soon as _that_ word was uttered.

In her turmoil, she almost missed the new placard on the towns’ news board. She stopped short of it, and peered from under her hood to see the script inked on the thick, creamy parchment.

 

 

  
‘ _Attention Younge Maidens,_

_The Lord and Lady of the nearby Castel Da Firenze have decided that their sole heir to the throne, shall betroth a young maiden whom meets their appraisal. Any eligible women between the ages of sixteen to twenty-five may present themselves and, if selected, must say goodbye to their homes forever._

_On the night of the 30 th March, a knave shall attend every household to accept names of the maidens applicable for this honour. Every household must give a maiden. _

_On April the 13 th the chosen Maiden shall be escorted from her home to the Castle._’

 

 

Belle blinked and felt dread pool up in her stomach again.

She was the only female who lived in her house. There was no way that she would be selected, so she had nothing to worry about. Perhaps they wouldn’t even bother coming to their farm? It was, after-all, the lowest in the caste system. No doubt, one of the prettier girls would be selected; with hair so flaxen you’d mistake it for fresh wheat, and skin the colour of milk. She could name twelve girls in town already better suited for such a position in comparison to herself.

She couldn’t help but scoff.

Grégoire had been worried that she’d be whisked away before he could publicly shame her? He’d have that pleasure for the rest of his life, whether she liked it or not. He was right about one thing. If a decision ever came to be who the town would side with, between Grégoire and herself, she knew she would lose.

A brisk wind picked up and she turned away from the notice board and hurried on her way home, excited to tell her Papa about the hilarious new developments in their little world. It was sure to brighten his day at least –and would help to erase the memory of Grégoire’s present from her mind.

 

 

“Is that really what they said?” her Papa asked, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Belle nodded from where she was sat, cross-legged, on a cushion by the hearth. “Yes, it’s quite comical. A woman from every house? The pub landlord has five daughters alone!”

“Will there be some sort of test?” Papa asked as he sipped at his warm milk. Belle had made him another as soon as she’d gotten home, and even made one for herself. She felt as though she’d earned it after the hard morning she’d had.

“I’d imagine so,” she nodded, “Whether one can extend her little finger to its fullest!” They both laughed as she pulled a silly face. “Honestly, this is the worst way to pick a bride! What if the Prince doesn’t like her? He’ll be forced to endure her company for the remainder of his life, lest he accuse her of treachery!”

“Have you seen royalty?” her father asked, “How many of them do you suppose are _happily_ married?”

Belle giggled, “I dread to think how many are unhappily married!”

“Imagine, my little Arabelle having to be fitted for a new gown!”

“Oh no, Papa, it wouldn’t be just one. I’d have hundreds! I’d have one for every hour of the week and need an army of waiting ladies just to get me into my corsets!”

Belle was red in the face. She truly hadn’t laughed so much in such a long time and, through her own watery eyes, she could see how happy it made her father. For once she wasn’t worrying about what tomorrow would bring. For now, she was just glad to have something to laugh about.

 

That evening after she’d put her Papa to bed, Belle remained reading by the fireplace. She’d wrapped herself as warm as she could manage, her undergarments on under her nightdress, and had wrapped a few blankets around her. They were sheep’s wool and were rather worn but still managed to get the worst of the chill out of her muscles. She’d braided her hair for the night, and had had another hot bath –something she was proud of and couldn’t wait to show her father the following day.

She needed to use it sparsely lest she ride their single remaining horse up to the forest for more firewood.

However, if she were able to help fight off his illness with a hot bath, his medicine and hopefully some more food? Then surely it would all be worth the hassle.

For now, though, Belle was content to lying down on their moth eaten rug, a book spread before her, and three flat pillows under her arm as she propped her head up to read and sketch. The stub of pencil blackened her fingertips but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Her machine was a success!

Now she needed to start work on the other one –if she truly could make a machine that washed all their clothes at once, it would free up a huge amount of time throughout her weeks! That meant she would have more time to dedicate to proper work and earning more money. For the first time in months –maybe even a whole year –Belle was starting to feel as though the winds were turning in her favour after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, I know I have painted Belle's background as even more hard-grinding and lonely, however I feel like this gives her reason to be so fiercely independent. What do you guys think??? x


	5. Chapter IV

**_Chapter IV_ **

 

 

**_~ 30 th March ~_ **

 

 

On the day of the thirtieth, Belle went about her routine like any other day. She woke up, washed and dressed herself, and then went into town to sell their eggs at the marketplace. There was a large shortage of young girls’ that morning. One older woman had even stopped by her stall and asked why she wasn’t at home preparing herself for the Knave to arrive. 

“I don’t have time to worry about what a knave will think of me,” she’d replied as politely as possible. “I have an ill father to care for. He’s my priority right now, not what colour dress to wear.”

Although, in truth, she had dreamed of what it would be like to have a choice of hundreds of dresses. It was nothing more than idle fancy of course, but she was also a girl. A girl who, for the last few years, had to sell all her nicer dressers for a couple of silver coins each in order to have a hot meal on the table. All she had left were her grey smocks, her boring, rough dresses and undergarments and hose.

Nothing in her house shone much brighter than worn-out copper.

The old woman had moved on, mostly due to her friend grabbing her arm through her thick cloak and steering her away, whispering in hushed tones about the promiscuous little egg-seller who’d had half the boys in town. That had been the last straw for Belle and she’d packed up early in order to hurry back to her Papa.  


 

Once home, she took the twelve silver coins out of her apron pocket and stashed them away in a small box on the bookshelf. It was almost full already and she felt a sense of pride as she hid it away again. If she was going to save up for some proper medical care for her Papa she’d need to pinch every penny where possible. In the last two weeks her father was slowly becoming mobile again. He was gradually easing his way up and down the stairs and, in recent days, was getting more agile. Belle felt a strain in her chest.

She didn’t want to start hoping too much. It was still very early in the process of his recovery.

“So today’s the big day,” her Papa said, dramatically waving his hands. He settled down in the rocking chair with a relieved sigh. It creaked as he leaned backwards into the pillows with a sigh, the lines on his thinning face appearing deeper. “What do you plan to wear tonight?” he asked.

“Papa, for the millionth time it won’t matter what I look like!” Belle snapped, slamming one of their wooden cups on the stone shelf beside their kitchen sink. Her neck was feverish and her temper spiking whenever she stood near the fire too long. Was she nervous? No, she couldn’t be. They wouldn’t pick her in a hundred years, much less come to their sad little house. “They’ll take one look at where we live and blacklist me. They’ll take my name as a formality, nothing more.”

She picked up a pot and started scrubbing away at it, the unsettling feeling in her stomach. Her eyes felt rather tired and irritated but she refused to believe she was going to cry. She didn’t know which possibility was going to be worse; living in a town with Grégoire’s threats hanging over her head until she was forced to be his little limp-wristed wife, or whisked off to a castle she’d barely heard of, to a Prince who’d probably never known a struggle in his life.

Neither was appealing.

Her Papa shook his head still silently amused over the idea. It had been a source of humour for them over the last week. It was often a relief, to feel so light-hearted again, if only for a short while, until the reality of the situation seemed to unfurl within Belle like a serpent. He felt such heartache, staring at her from across the room. She truly was a pretty girl, even beautiful, but the last few years had been exceptionally hard on her.

It was aging her.

Her eyes were weary and drawn, her skin tight and sallow and her body had wasted away to half its previous size. Her clothes gaped around her being drawn tight to herself with ties, laces and wide strips of cloth wound tightly around her waist. She thought he hadn’t noticed what she’d been doing to herself in aid of his health, but he had. He always knew what she was up to. He even knew of the rumours around town but he wasn’t a fool. He knew his daughter wasn’t any of those fouls things the townsfolk called her.

“Still, it couldn’t hurt to show them how pretty you are,” he offered as he took a sip of milk.

“Papa, enough now,” she said, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Drink your tea.”

“Yes, dearest,” he raised the cup she set before him in a mock salute. The medicine was bitter but to have hot drinks and heat was enough to make his evening cheerful

  


 

 

 

~0~

 

 

 

 

  
The wheels creaked over the cobblestone roads as the coach made its way from house to house within the small Provincial town. The elderly Knave who had been forced to attend every home that evening, was already weary of his task. He had a jewelled satchel with enough parchments to restock a library in the centre of Paris, and he was hoping that he didn’t have any more places to attend. He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Is that all of them?” he called out to his driver. 

“I think so sir –Oh, wait a moment! No, it looks like there is one on the other side of the river.”

“The river?” the Knave drew back the lace curtain of his coach and peered out into the smudgy darkness of the night.

There was nothing but barren fields out there that backed over into the forest. Surely there wasn’t –and then he saw it. Tucked away on the other side of the bridge was a small, low farmhouse. There were lights on in the lower level of the house that were almost imperceptible in the blackness. A part of him was too tired to care if there was a maiden living there, and another part of him knew that if he didn’t check every abode on the list, he’d be in worse trouble than the local criminals.

With a resigned sigh, he called out; “Carry on! But be careful of that bridge! It doesn’t look strong!”

Urging the horses onward, the Knave sank back into the plush cushions and rubbed his temples. It had been a long night. He’d grown weary by the fifteenth house but now, as the carriage slowly creaked over the bridge, he was downright exhausted. He’d never slumped in front of his Master, but he couldn’t help himself. He missed his bed and the stillness of land beneath his feet.

The coach came to a standstill. The door was opened for him with the faintest creak, and he stepped out into the brisk night air. It bit through his fine brocade coat and cloak. He drew it tighter around himself. Nodding at the two coachmen, he said, “Hopefully this one won’t take too long.”

He straightened up to his full height, and made his way up the stairs across the icy ground to the front door. He knocked. As he waited to be answered he observed the structure. It was an old house, with thick cut bricks, but it was sound. Solid. A thickly thatched roof –despite the repairs that he could see even through the night.

He turned forward as the latch was lifted.

Words almost failed him as the door drew inwards to reveal a young girl a few inches shorter than himself. At five foot six, he wasn’t too short for his stature, but he was painfully aware that anyone could out-grow him. He made up for it with his haughty demeanour. However this girl –she struck a chord in him. She was pale and thin, perhaps too thin, but she didn’t have a waxy look to her skin. She looked soft, like fresh milk. Her ebony hair gleamed like silk from where it was coiffed back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her cheeks were freckled and her large hazel eyes shone brightly even if there was a nervousness to her movements.

“Hello?”

“Good evening _Mademoiselle_ , I take it you were expecting me?”

“Oh of course, sir, would you like to come in?” she asked. She stepped aside to let him in. He entered without a word. Before she closed the door she asked, “Would your coachmen like to come in, too? It must have been a long night and it is still bitterly cold.”

The Knave –Bertrand –blinked in surprise. No one else had asked that, nor cared about the remaining men outside. “I’m –not sure. You’re welcome to ask them.”

Hesitating for a second, she offered a weak smile and then went to call the coachmen inside. They blinked up at her in surprise, but didn’t hesitate for too long before mounting the wooden steps into the house. Once everyone was inside and seated on the mismatched furniture by the hearth, the young woman asked, “Would anyone like some tea or warm milk?”

“Tea,” all three said.

She must have had the kettle boiling all night, because within moments four cups of tea were placed on the small round table between them. Taking a sip, Bertrand removed a blank sheet of parchment along with an inkwell and quill and placed it on the small round table that her Papa usually read at. He was currently upstairs in his bed, resting.

“Now, please state your name and age for the record,” he intoned.

“Arabelle, aged seventeen.”

“Do you live alone?”

“No, sir, I live with my father.”

The quill scratched alone the parchment. “What do you do to earn your keep?”

“I sell our eggs at the morning markets, I teach the children at Sunday school, and I often do some odd jobs in town; namely at the seamstress’ shop. She’s a sweet old lady, but her joints are getting old.”

The quill scratched “What are your interests?”

He watched the girl blink in surprise. Most of the other girls’ had blanched, not really knowing what he meant. Either that or they’d all ran off a list of high-society enjoyments that they shouldn’t know much about. They expected it to impress him –and the Master –since they’d be escorted to a castle. In truth, that wasn’t what they were looking for.  
“Truthfully, sir?” she asked, wringing her hands a little in her lap. “I … I like to fix things.”

“Fix things?” he cocked a bushy eyebrow at her. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I … I’m afraid you’ll think me too strange if I said.”

“Please, go ahead. This is all in confidence.”

“Between us and the Lord and Lady?” she scoffed without thinking. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry, please forgive me? That was rude.”

“It’s okay,” he waved at her. “Please, explain to me what you meant by ‘fixing thing’.”

“Well, before my father got ill, he used to experiment with some machinery to improve our lives, make things easier. After he got ill, I read through his books since I couldn’t afford new ones. I found I enjoyed and understood them. So, I tried my hand at it. I … I dare say, I’m quite good.”

“Would you care to demonstrate one of these little experiments?” Bertrand asked, both intrigued and anxious.

The girl –Belle –flushed a pretty pink colour. It really helped to highlight her cheekbones. “Of course,” she stood up and brushed down the skirt of her green, floral skirt.

The brocade bodice was a little frayed at the edges but Bertrand shook it off. He stood and followed the young girl into a side-room that held a large bathtub and a small wash-basin. He frowned heavily at the knobs hanging over the tub. He watched as her pale hands twisted the knob through the gloom. Something gurgled loudly, making his skin prick with fear. The two coachmen appeared in the doorway behind him, just as intrigued, and brought candles with them to help illuminate the small backroom. They watched as the small bent pipe over the tub spluttered and then the gushing sound filled the air as water flowed out.

“My, that is … impressive,” he murmured. “Water indoors. I’ve never seen such a thing. Not without a hand-pump.”

Belle flushed, as she’d only managed to manufacture the pump a couple of weeks prior. “Oh, just wait. It gets better.”

Bertrand waited, watching. He didn’t know what to expect. It was already astounding to see what a mere farm girl was able to do just from reading a book. That’s when he noticed the steam. He turned to her, his eyes wide. “I … Is that _hot_ water?”

Belle nodded. “See for yourself. Careful, though, sir.”

Peeling off his glove, he inched a finger closer, already feeling the heat fill the room. He touched the surface of the water for a second and jerked his hand away. It was hot. Hot water – _indoors_? Wait until the Master heard of it! It was phenomenal!

“How have you not become rich with this idea?” he asked, as Belle led him back out into the heart of the house. The coachmen were murmuring behind him.

She shifted awkwardly, her shoulders hunching at his words. “Forgive me, sir, but this truly isn’t the sort of town for that type of thing. People already discredit me for reading so freely, as I do. To know what else I do? They should surely drive me out. I couldn’t let that happen to my Papa.”

Bertrand watched her for any signs of dishonesty. He found none. He’d rarely paid heed to how townsfolk behave but the way this girl spoke –it was intriguing. “Before we leave, I just need to ask you one more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Why would you want to be chosen?”

She blinked at the question, her petal pink lips frowning a little. “I –don’t believe I want to be, sir.”

“Why ever not? This could surely be the answer to all your problems?” he stated, waving a flippant hand at her surrounding home. She followed his hand her eyes wide and forlorn.

“Perhaps, sir, but life isn’t meant to be easy. My father and I have suffered but at least I know he is properly taken care of.”

Inclining his head Bertrand asked, “What if he were taken care of and you were chosen? What then?”

“I couldn’t say, sir. That’s not the life for me.”

Bertrand nodded his head before rolling up the parchment, careful not to smudge the ink, before tucking it into the jewelled satchel. “Very well, we shall be on our way. Thank you for your hospitality, the tea was most pleasing.”

The coachmen nodded in agreement, although it was probably just kindness at not being left out in the cold.

“It was a pleasure, sirs,” she curtsied to them all, before escorting them to the door. She prayed the commotion of her voices hadn’t disturbed her Papa.

 

 

Once outside and the door firmly shut in place, the coachmen resumed their positions at the top of the coach whilst Bertrand stepped up and locked the door behind him. As they turned in the small front of flat earth before the house, the wheels crunching on the gravel, he watched through the lace curtain as the flickering light of the farmhouse was swallowed up by the darkness. 

There was something about that girl that struck him; she hadn’t fawned over them, hadn’t rushed to kiss their shoes and definitely had a few quirks about her. She was nervous and looked as though she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Above all else, however, she wasn’t _boring_. She was timid, polite and was amiable company. To his surprise, Bertrand found himself quite taken with her. The forests closed around the carriage as they delve deeper into the countryside. In the far distance the lonely cry of a lone wolf echoed through the darkness, but not even the crisp air was able to dispel the ember of warmth left within.

_She’s perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a new spin on why Belle is taken to the castle, however things will become clearer as to WHY in later chapter x


	6. Chapter V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for such a long update. It's been such a long weekend. My partner took a bit of a nasty turn. Paramedics had to be called, but he got the all clear. He's fine at home and resting well (and gorged himself on a huge roast beef dinner!) it's just been a bit of a shock to the system to process.
> 
> Hope this was worth the wait! X

**_Chapter V_ **

 

 

 

April was already proving to be a much better month for them.

The warmer weather had melted the frost and made the earth in the fields more pliable. Her Papa had even been able to walk around a lot more, and had offered to help her with planting the seeds, but Belle still wasn’t convinced that he was agile enough. However, one morning as she strolled home from the market, an empty egg basket slug on her arm she found him planting some vegetables in the small garden beside their house. Belle had pushed her evening with the Knave far from her mind, despite it being on the tips of everyone’s tongues in town.

She didn’t care though.

Her father was walking around with the aid of a cane, and she had been able to hoe ad turn over the rest of the fields with the help of their horse. She finally had a spring in her step. She was definitely feeling a little more confident in herself.

That being said, on the evening of the thirteenth, she had barely finished washing-up their dinner things and settled her Papa in the rocking chair in front of the fire. She was just bringing him a book and his medicine, when a knock came at her door. She flinched upright, her eyes locked on the iron latches, wondering who could be on the other side.

Her stomach knotted.

Surely they hadn’t picked her? For once in her life, she hoped it was actually Grégoire standing on the other side. As she crossed the ever-expanding distance to the front door, she felt her heart beating against her ribs. Her hands shook as she lifted the latch and peered outside.

Her heart sank.

“C-Can I help you?” she asked the elderly Knave who had come to her house just two weeks ago.

“Arabelle, you have been selected by his highness as the eligible maiden in line to betroth the Prince,” he announced.

Belle tried to open her mouth, but no sound came out. “ _Belle?”_ her father called from behind her. “ _Who is it? What’s going on?_ ”

The old Knave and two other men, similarly clad, entered their house. They seemed to dwarf Belle’s humble home with their bright and regal uniforms. “Sir, your daughter has been selected, above all others, as a viable candidate for his highness.”

“ _No_ ,” Belle whispered, staring into space.

“I beg your pardon, _Mademoiselle_?”

 

“I said ‘ _no’_ ,” she repeated a little louder. She clutched at the front door for support. “I –I can’t leave my father. He’s still sick!”

“Belle don’t worry about me,” Maurice smiled at her from his rocking chair. Leaning heavily on his cane, he made his way over to where everyone was crowded by the front door. He laid a hand on her forearm and squeezed. “This is an exciting opportunity for you.”

“It’s not an experience, Papa,” she stated, her eyes already clouding with tears as nerves twanged inside her. “It’s me leaving you forever.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he chided.

“Oh, but it is!” she insisted, her eyes clouding with tears as she clutched his hand in her own. She bowed her head and kissed his knuckles. “I couldn’t bear to leave you!”

He patted her head, stroking his fingers through her hair. “Belle, look at me.” She obliged. He wiped the unfallen tears from her eyes and was suddenly struck by just how much she looked like her mother. “I’ve always wanted so much better for you in life. Here it is, finally, knocking at your door. Don’t shut the world out anymore, sweetheart.”

Tears continued to cascade down her cheeks. “Papa …” she choked, shaking her head. “Papa … please …” She had no idea what she was begging for. Her mind was a hot, numb mess inside her skull. This couldn’t he happening. This was just a twisted joke. Turning her angry, confused eyes to the Knave she asked; “Why me?”

“You were the most honest and were interesting. You showed great care for your guests, and have demonstrated in your care for your father.”

“I cannot leave him!” she repeated, the fight draining out of her body. She sank down against her father’s knees. “He is still recovering. What if he gets worse?”

“I have advised my Master on your concerns and he has graciously released one of his own doctors to come and attend to your father.”

Belle blinked, utterly surprised. “I … W-Why would he do such a thing?”

“To make leaving a little easier for you.”

Belle bit her lip. She felt rooted to the spot. Her stomach twisted inside her at the information. It was –such a generous offer but it was something she’d never imagined happening! She was dimly aware of what was being said without really paying attention to it. Her father wanted her to go, seeing it as an opportunity as well as an adventure. The Knave simply saw it as another task on his list.

Did neither of them understand that she simply wouldn’t belong in that world?

“Um … M-May I have a few moments to pack my things?” she asked softly, the crackling of the fire almost drowning her words out.

The Knave nodded and told her to meet them outside within twenty minutes.

The clock on the mantle had never been louder.

 

 

Once the door closed behind them, Belle choked on a sob and rake her hair out of her eyes. “I can’t believe this!” she wept, her hand muffling her voice. “Ten minutes to say goodbye to you and pack my entire life into a bag?”

“It’s not ideal,” her father acknowledged as he stroked her hair behind her ears. “But just think of all the things you’ll get to see and experience. This is life-changing!”

“I don’t want my life to change,” she insisted, “I like my life the way it is!”

“I refuse to let you live this way,” her Papa said, a sternness entering his voice. Through her tears she watched him scowl down at her. “You have been wasting away taking care of me here. As much as I love you and what you’ve done for me, I will not see my only daughter become a spinster! Now, hurry up and pack your things! This is no different to if you’d been able to go to University!”

“At least then I’d have gotten to come home to you!”

“Belle, you don’t have time to fret! You need to go up and pack!”

Belle was hurt by his words as she gingerly stood up, brushed herself down, and made her way up to her room.

The stairs creaked as she climbed to the narrow landing and turning right.

She hadn’t needed more than five minutes to pack her few possessions. Standing at the end of her bed, having pressed her few cotton dresses and undergarments in her weathered carpet bag, she cast a saddened look around the familiar walls. She’d never see this room again. She’d never see the wooden beams over her bed when she couldn’t sleep. She’d never see the chips and cracks in the walls. The only sentimental thing she took was the locket her mother used to wear. Inside it was a portrait of all three of them.

It had been the only expense she’d ever allowed –and not sold in order to buy food.

Back downstairs, her Papa was up and by the door, wrapped in a woollen shawl and hose. He hugged her tightly when she came to him and pressed a kiss to her head. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ll be alright. Write me when you can.”

“I will,” she promised, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. She fastened her thickest cloak around her shoulders and tugged the hood up over her head. “I love you, Papa!”

“I love you too. Now hurry before he gets angry.”

Belle reluctantly pulled away, her face raw with tear tracks as she lifted the bag up and made her way down the staircase to the carriage. The coachmen helped her up, even though it was only two gilt steps high, and she didn’t say anything as a white lace handkerchief was offered to her. She wiped at her eyes and pressed her hand to the glass as the carriage was turned around. Her Papa grew smaller and smaller as he waved proudly from the top of their steps. The wheels crunched and rolled easily over the dirt track and hurried on over the bridge. Within moments the farmhouse –and her Papa –disappeared out of sight.

 

 

 

“I expect you’re wondering about the new circumstances you will be living in?” Bertrand asked conversationally.

Belle remained silent.

“You are to only speak to the Master when you are spoken to. Be wary of his temper. You shall join him for dinner if and when he requires your company. You –”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured somewhat distractedly finally turning her eyes from the rolling forest outside the window, “I thought there was a Lord and a Lady of the Castle? The Prince is their son?”

This time, Bertrand pressed his lips together. “I’m afraid the announcement in the town square was not entirely truthful.”

Belle felt her stomach knot with dread.

“The King and Queen have long since perished in the plague that befell out country many years ago. There were very few survivors.”

The hair at the back of her neck stood up on end.

“When the young Master found out it turned him into a very spoiled, malicious man. He was rude, arrogant, and still is all those things, in truth. However, I have come to believe he is also lonely. He has been cursed for almost ten years with next to no other company other than the house-staff.”

Belle directed her gaze out of the window. The lace curtains were open a fraction, letting her witness a sliver of the world whizzing by. How on earth was someone able to live in isolation for more than a decade? At least she had her Papa and a reason to get up every morning.

“I can imagine,” she murmured.

“In any case, we have taken it upon ourselves to bring someone in to the Master’s life.”

“So he has no idea I’m coming?” she asked, her nerves shivering inside her.

“Not to this specific arrangement, no.”

“What if he refuses to let me enter?”

“That’s not possible. I have it on good authority with the housekeeper. Your rooms have been made ready and are awaiting your arrival.”

“I see,” was all she could think of saying. “So I am there against my will, and this Master of yours won’t even know until I’m there? So I’m to be a prisoner in his castle until he can decide what to do with me?”

“Naturally you’ll have access to all areas of the castle, the grounds and the stables. Everywhere except the Western Wing.”

“What’s in there?”

“For your own peace of mind, Arabelle, I’d advise you not to go there.”

Belle watched as Bertrand reclined out of the slice of moonlight that illuminated the carriage. She was almost certain she could see his papery skin growing thinner, his veins becoming more prominent. The carriage hurried on through the winding forest paths, the howling of the wolves crooning far off in the distance. Belle dreaded to think what would happen if they were attacked. It wouldn’t take much for them to overturn the carriage.  


 

 

What felt like hours later the carriage finally eased to a halt on the other side of a pair of towering, wrought iron gates. Beyond said gates, there was a terrifying castle that was all black stone, dead ivy and snarling gargoyles. Even under the starry night sky, it managed to look anything less than terrifying. Belle looked out at the frost covered ground –how was it still holding in the forest? Did the heat from the sun not reach it? She felt her insides twist and turn.

As soon as she stepped out of the carriage that would be it. There would be no going back.

“Before you go, I need you to sign this,” Bertrand broke her thought process as he held out a piece of parchment with elegant script all over it.

Belle frowned over at it, her numbed mind barely registering the words. “What is it?”

“Just a document stating that you were the one selected for this opportunity.”

Taking the quill from his hand, Belle quickly scribbled her name, the scratching of the quill grating against her nerves.

“If you go through the main doors, Mrs. Potts will see that you’re settled in,” Bertrand advised as one of the coachmen appeared and opened the door for her.

Poised to step out, Belle turned to frown at the elderly Knave. Her hazel eyes betrayed how panicked she felt. “W-What? You mean you’re not coming with me?”

He shook his head in the shadows. “I’m afraid none of us can go beyond this border at this point. You’ll be alright. Mrs. Potts is waiting for you.”

On unstable legs, Belle clutched her thick bag and awkwardly stepped down into the moonlight. The trees spiked up towards the sky, as though they were trying to reach the stars with their bare, black teeth.

A shiver ran through her.

She pulled her cloak tighter and suddenly felt very small as she edged toward the tall gates. Her head was still reeling as she left the carriage and the coachmen behind her, their presence disarming. Her heart was still nestled at home in front of the fireplace with her Papa. Was he alright? Was the doctor with him now or would he be there in the morning?

She hadn’t been able to voice this concerns in the coach.

Turning to call back to Bertrand, Belle was shocked to see that the coach had vanished without a sound. Fear spiked through her as she whipped around to peer up at the gates. They weren’t padlocked, which was surely a good sign. It groaned loudly in the night air as she eased it open just enough to squeeze through. The whole structure seemed to wobble as it clanged shut behind her. The noise vibrated through the air as Belle made her way over the gravel towards the stone bridge that led to the doorway of the castle. A chill nipped at her ankles. It was almost as though spring didn’t reach this far into the forest. She was almost expecting to see snowflakes twirling down through the air.  
  
The large mahogany doors were ten times her height. The black iron hinges and door knocker probably weighed more than her own house. Setting her bag down on the flagstone steps, Belle used all her strength to raise the knocker and let it drop. The resounding bang in the castle beyond made her blood run cold. A key groaned in the lock. The door was heaved inwards and she gratefully stepped inside.

The entrance hall was dark and chilled, almost cooler than outside. A shiver ran through her as she looked around in the gloom, trying to make out a moving shadow for whomever had opened the door. There was no one. Frowning, she backed up against the door and chewed her bottom lip. A tremor ran down her spine as a cold breeze bit at her ankles. She’d thought she’d left all the bitterness of winter behind her.

“Hello?” she called, too afraid to raise her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was upset the Master who had no idea she’d be there. “Is anyone there?”

Silence.

Nothing stirred.

“You must be the young Arabelle old Bertrand told me about,” came a cheerful, motherly voice.

Belle whipped around, straining her eyes to make out the person. She didn’t spot anyone. “I –yes, that’s me. I’m sorry I can’t –I can’t _see_ you.”

There was a hesitation. “ _Lumière_ , give us some light, would you?”

A soft blush of candlelight swept into the small corner of the hall. Belle looked around and could see no one still.

“Down here, dear.”

Belle looked down and let out a scream as she watched the ornate teapot smile at her. _Smile!_ It was a teapot, it shouldn’t be able to smile or even blink! What was going on? Her voice was trapped in her throat and she could barely find the capacity to _breathe_.

“I see that Bertrand didn’t tell you anything, did he?”

Belle mutely shook her head, her hands clamped over her mouth in case she screamed again. Panic was bouncing around inside her, making her sweat. She needed to run, she needed to get home to her Papa! This was some sort of trick to test just how ‘ _different’_ she really was from the other girls! If she stayed here they’d only take her to the asylum in the morning!

“Don’t look so scared, dear, we’re not going to hurt you.” The teapot insisted, the gold painted eyes looking up at her. “My name is Mrs. Potts. I’m the housekeeper.”

“You’re a teapot,” Belle observed dumbly.

“I’m aware, dear,” Mrs. Potts smiled wanly. “If you’ll come with us, we can explain a few things a little better.”

Belle cast a glance at the door. It wouldn’t be hard to over-step a candelabra and a teapot to get out. Lumière saw where she was looking at gave a solemn shake of his head.

“I’m afraid, _Mademoiselle_ , that you are bound to this castle, like the rest of us.”

“No I’m not!” she replied petulantly. “I can leave right now!”

She stepped around them and quickly ran to the door. She tried to heave it open but it wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t that the door was too heavy, it simply refused to even wiggle at her touch. She tried again and again, exerting what little strength she had.

Nothing.

Her desperation mingled with the panic and fresh tears brimmed in her eyes.

“I’m afraid the parchment Bertrand made you sign binds you to the castle, and with us,” Mrs. Potts said apologetically, her painted eyes downcast.

Belle felt any remaining strength leave her body as she sagged back against the hard wood of the door. She was trapped. It was a cold, hard fact. It sat heavily in her chest as she sank down to the floor. She didn’t even have the energy to cry anymore. She was too numb to it all. The events of the evening were blurring together in her head and she frowned. How had this happened to her? Of all people, why her? What had she done to deserve such punishment? Why had she been forced away from her beloved Papa? What had she done?

_Harlot._

The word came out of nowhere.

She felt bile burn like acid inside her.

Her body convulsed.

She drew her knees up to her chest and choked on a dry sob. The silence was buzzing around her and making the inside of her skull scream. She needed to get out, to go back home. This was all wrong! They’d picked the wrong girl. She didn’t belong here.

The clink-clink-clink of the teapot coming closer caught her attention.

“Would you like a spot of tea?” she asked, her voice soft, concerned and warming.

Belle found herself nodding. “Y-Yes,” she whispered shakily, tears staining the lap of her dress. “I think tea would be wonderful right now.”


	7. Chapter VI

**_Chapter VI_ **

 

 

 

As midnight struck somewhere in the far distance of the land, Belle found herself still awake in a strange bed in an even stranger room, hoping beyond hope that the evening she’d just had was a dream –or a nightmare. As long as she awoke tomorrow morning in her own bed at the farmhouse, she’d be happy. She sat hunched against the headboard, he knees pulled to her chest trying to fight off the chill. It was warm in the room but fear was making her feel sick. Everything inside her jittered with anxiety and dread.

Her stomach grumbled but if she ate anything she’d be sick.

Earlier that evening, as she warmed the chill from her bones, Mrs. Potts had bequeathed unto her the strangest tale she’d ever heard. The young prince –their Master as they called him –had lost his parents quite young. Due to his lack of guardianship, many relatives near and far would spoil him. He forgot all about manners and kindness and was only took things at face-value. He had become a shallow man. It was because of this, and his lack of consciousness, that he had spurned the wrath of an old beggar woman desperately in need of some shelter from the cold. She’d had no money to pay him with.

Nothing of value, except for the silkiest rose as red as blood.

Belle remembered that she’d shivered beside the large, ornate fireplace as she sipped at her tea. Every so often something would flicker in the shadows and make her flinch. Mrs. Potts and the candelabra, Lumiére, often told her not to worry. It was the most popular assurance that evening that it became nothing but white noise after a while. Most of the furniture and ornaments were cursed in their current form. As fanciful as Belle liked to be, even believing in the likes of dragons and werewolves and other such beasts, she hadn’t known how to respond to their accounts of that fated night. A part of her knew it must be true; how else would she be talking to a tea pot and a candlestick? The evidence was right there in front of her eyes, and yet something inside her was stopping her from believing it.

Perhaps she’d been too tired and hungry from the long journey.

 

Now, as she lay in the large, four-posted bed of her bedchamber, she couldn’t help but feel an energy in the air, something distinctly not-human. Something almost alive, humming around her. It unsettled her. Stopped her from sleeping. She played with the rich coverlet as she eyed her surroundings in the room. Now that her eyes were adjusted to the dark, she was able to make out a large wardrobe off to one side, a dresser, a fireplace with an armchair beside it, and large French doors that led out to a balcony.

It was all very elegant, but she didn’t feel as though she had any right to be there.

With a sigh she kicked back the covers and made her way across the plush rug over to the armchair. There was a small table beside it with a candle and a box of matches. A tremor ran through her as she lit the candle, filling the room with a feeble light. She carried it over to the bed, nestled back into the warm covers and reclined a little more comfortably on the thick, goose feather pillows. The room was still too big for her –she could envision fitting her entire farmhouse in that single chamber. Despite the small bubble of light, the distinct feeling of being watched didn’t fade away. Feeling a weight settle in her chest, Belle pulled one of her books into her lap. She was glad she’d brought something to occupy her mind from home. Thinking and worrying about whether her bed was alive was not the sort of thing she needed juggling around in her mind, along with all the new information lodged in there.

As she read, Belle couldn’t help but wonder about the Master of the castle. She didn’t much like the sound of him from what she’d heard; then again the only arrogant, rude man she had to compare to was Grégoire, and that seemed a little unfair. She hadn’t even met the man yet. A small part of her reasoned that, being holed up in an old castle for years with no one else to talk to but the furniture, she’d be a bit socially awkward too.

An exhausted nervous giggle escaped her.

She already _was_ socially awkward.

Perhaps that’s why Bertrand thought she’d be a good fit as company for this man. Twirling a lock of black hair around her fingers, she drew her knees up and relaxed further into the plush pillows. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a pillow this comfortable.

‘ _Surely I can learn to enjoy it a little until I meet the Master?_ ’ she thought, turning a page in her book. ‘ _If he doesn’t like me he’ll send me home. The least I can do is enjoy the amenities whilst I’m here_.’  
In the bowels of the castle, something banged shut.

The sound was so sharp and so sudden, it made Belle jump.

She froze under the bedclothes, her knees drawn to her chest, the book forgotten beside her. Her body flushed with fear as she strained her ears. Nothing further seemed to stir in the castle. Yet that bang –it _terrified_ her.

Her heart was hammering wild in her chest.

She was suddenly all too aware that, curse or not, she was not the only living person under those turrets. There was someone else – _something_ else –lurking deep in the shadows, prowling around in the night, it’s claws tick-tacking along the stone floors.  
“Stop it!” she hissed to herself, her jaw trembling. “You’re just scaring yourself!”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end. What was she supposed to do if the Master –whatever he was –came into her room? She had no defence! She was small and weak –she hadn’t even been able to keep Grégoire off her! She pressed her forehead against the covers and squeezed her eyes shut. Her skull throbbed with panic.

“It’s just a dream … It’s just a dream … _It’s just a dream!_ ” she chanted.

She could feel tears burning up in her eyes. She just wanted morning to come. How had this night gone on for so long? She shoved her book aside and threw the covers over her head, curling up into a tight ball and keeping her eyes clamped shut. All she could hear was the roaring of blood in her ears and the panicked beating of her heart in her chest.

There was a ‘ _click’_ that cracked through the air like a thunderbolt.

She froze; even her heart seemed to stop mid-beat just so she could listen a little better.

Someone was in her room.

She could _feel_ it.

The hairs on her arm stood up on end. Whoever or whatever it was, it was a large presence; she felt like even the furniture cowered from this entity. It seemed to weigh down on everything, even the air she was breathing. Her stomach was in a frenzy, spinning inside her so much she was sure she was going to be sick. In the small pocket of under the covers, she breathed harder and harder, her hands pressed tightly over her mouth.

‘ _Be brave,_ ’ a voice whispered in her head. ‘ _Be polite and be brave!_ ’

Belle grimaced at the advice. Being ‘herself’ had gotten her into this mess in the first place. She wasn’t sure she wanted a repeat of that.

‘ _Go on, just poke your head up and introduce yourself_ ,’ the voice urged.

Sighing, Belle steeled herself for what untold horrors were on the other side of the thick coverlet. The candle was out. She must have blown it out when she’d flapped the covers around. She blanched, sweat dampening her nightdress as she scanned the room. The cool air froze her flushed body. It made her feel sickly. She could still feel it, that presence, looming somewhere. All of a sudden, it clicked in her head.

_Eyes.  
_

That was why she’d felt so unsettled.

Mrs. Potts had said most of the furniture and ornaments were enchanted –or cursed –to be in their current state. Even so, she’d known that before the feeling had settled in her stomach. So, what else was there in her room that scared her?

Swallowing thickly, she asked, “Hello? I-Is anyone there?”

Silence.

Somehow, the silence was worse than any answer.

Clawing her hands through her hair, she let out a nervous laugh. “I really have gone mad. Everyone always said I would, and now I have. I’ve been abandoned in an enchanted castle with talking teapots and I’m scared of the dark!”

She felt her eyes burn with tears.

She wiped them with the cuff of her dress. With a sigh she cast a glance at the latticed windows. She hadn’t drawn the curtains when she’d been shown to her room. The moon had vanished from the sky as had the stars. There was the faint suggestion of dawn hovering in the air but it was still many hours before daylight would crest the mountains on the horizon.

“Hopefully things will start to look better in the daylight,” she murmured to herself. Collapsing back against the pillows, Belle couldn’t help but hope that Mrs. Potts was the one to come and wake her in the morning. She was kind and motherly enough that it was probably easy to forget she was actually a teapot.

_Probably._

 

 

 

 

~0~

 

 

  
  
“Good morning, dear, it’s time for breakfast!” chimed a honey-rich voice.

Belle cracked an eyelid open and tucked the covers under her chin. The spring sunlight was pouring in through the windows and highlighting every corner of the room. There was nowhere for any monsters to hide now. Pushing herself up onto her pillows, Belle rubbed at her sore eyes as sensation started to floor her body.

“Good morning Mrs. Potts,” she managed to say through a sleep-slurred voice.

“I hope you don’t mind porridge for breakfast, my dear, but the Chef doesn’t like to take risks with new guests.”

Belle frowned at the word ‘guest’ but didn’t bother correcting her. She wasn’t so much a ‘guest’ as she was a ‘prisoner’.

“Oh no, porridge is fine,” she mumbled as she stretched her arms and slipped out of bed. She didn’t bother to mention that breakfast was rare in her household and that for most of the winter any watered-down gruel they’d had, she’d given up for her Papa’s health. With groaning muscles she slipped into a red brocade robe that had been laid out on the back of the armchair –when had that happened? –and sat down by the fireplace as a plate of porridge hopped over to her.

The fire was roaring merrily and instantly warming her thin legs. “Oh!” she exclaimed, pressing back into the chair.

Mrs. Potts chuckled, “Don’t worry, most of the china and silverware are enchanted. They don’t bite, you can still use them.”

Belle eyed the plate warily. It didn’t seem right to put something in her mouth when it used to be human. It was such a bizarre concept. “I … I’m not sure I can,” she admitted.

“Just close your eyes and eat.”

Belle grimaced a little, like she was being force-fed her vegetables again, before doing as advised. The grumbling in her stomach soon disappeared as she gained confidence and started to enjoy the small meal.

“See? That wasn’t so hard was it?” Mrs. Potts tutted. “We definitely need to give you some bigger meals. You look starved to the bone! I’ll make sure the Chef will give you a bigger breakfast tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Belle said. “I’m used to not eating too much.”

Mrs. Potts shook from side-to-side. Was she shaking her head? Belle found it somehow amusing in her sleep-deprived state. “That’s not good enough. We have the food, so there’s no point having it go to waste.”

Belle found herself smiling for the first time since arriving at the castle. She soon sobered up, however. “I heard some noises last night. What was it?”

Mrs. Potts seemed to hesitate before replying, “It must have just been the wind.”

Belle shook her head, “It didn’t sound like the wind.” She bit her bottom lip. “Was it the Master?”

Sighing, Mrs. Potts bobbed. “Yes. He wasn’t best pleased when he heard of your arrival.”

“So … I take it I won’t be meeting with him any time soon?” she hedged.

“I’d say not. Just need to let him calm down and get his head around it. He’s a stubborn one.”

Belle blinked in surprise. The way Mrs. Potts spoke of the Master, it was almost as though she was fond of him –or at the very least, had been fond of him. Perhaps he wasn’t that bad, if someone as kind-hearted as Mrs. Potts found something in him to like.

“What’s the Master like?” Belle found herself asking. She couldn’t deal with the silence of the place. A castle was meant to have been heaving with staff –not as silent as a cemetery.

“Well, he’d deny it if anyone asked him, but he loves animals. Which is a shame, since a lot of the horses in the stables don’t go near him anymore. He’s forgotten how to be hu -” She cut herself off. Casting a sideways glance at Belle, she cleared her throat. “Oops, look at me! Prattling on when there’s chores to do!” She started making her way towards the door, the breakfast trolley wheeling itself behind her.

“Wait!” Belle called out, “What –what am I supposed to do all day?”

“Why not explore the castle?” Mrs. Potts suggested. “If you like, I can have Lumiére and Cogsworth meet you up here in an hour? They’d be happy to show you around. It’s been far too long since we’ve had a guest, they’d be delighted to show off the castle for you!”

With that, she wheeled herself out.

Belle frowned after her as the door closed with a ‘ _click’_. There it was again. That word. _Guest_. Were these ornaments _that_ starved for human interaction that they perceived anyone within their walls who wasn’t cursed, as a guest? It made her skin crawl as she tightened the robe around her neck.

There was that feeling _again_.

The eyes.

She could _feel_ them watching her.

Whipping around, she surveyed the furniture with narrowed eyes. “Hello? Is anyone enchanted in here?” she asked, almost afraid to find out the answer. Something shuffled in the corner of her eyes. “Hello?” she frowned, her muscles tensing up as she turned left to right and looked behind the chair. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Why on earth would I be afraid of a sprig of a girl like you?” gloated a thick, feminine voice.

Belle whirled around to stare at the ornate carvings of her wardrobe. Edging closer, she peered up. Two large, brown eyes blinked and stared back at her. She jumped back, her heart lodged in her throat. “H-Hello,” she said. “I … I’m Belle.”

“I know who you are,” the wardrobe smiled. “I am Madame Vendrobe. I was a seamstress who lived at the castle many moons ago.”

“How do you do?” Belle curtsied, feeling a little silly in just her nightdress and robe. “Do you –um –have any dresses for me to wear?” she suddenly felt as though the few cotton dresses she brought wouldn’t be nearly clean enough in such a place.  
“Of course, I have hundreds! Did you have a colour or style in mind?” the wardrobe gleaned, looking far too excited to show off her skills.

“Just … Something easy to walk in, I suppose. Something I can explore the castle in.”

“I think I have something that would suit you,” Madame Vendrobe boasted, heaving her large oak chest. There was a rustling side inside her, like a hundred petticoats fluttering about like frightened birds. Belle felt herself grow rigid. She had no idea what to expect now. She was still almost certain that she was dreaming all of this. “Now, hold out your arms and watch out for the pins!”

“The what?” she gasped, as the two doors launched open.

A flurry of fabrics and ribbons exploded into the air, weaving an intricate dance around her. The robe was tugged from her arms by an invisible force, as did the nightdress, leaving her in only a white slip. A shock of cold air slapped into her. Before she could even feel exposed, the petticoats circled her waist and, a bodice of pink and green toned silk looped around her arms and wrapped around her waist. The ribbons wove through the loops and tightened instantly, and the lace cuffs wove around her arms above her elbows, around and around like someone twirling a daisy. Small golden things glinted overhead and she gasped when she felt her hair being tugged and pulled gently in all directions. All at once, the motion stopped. The dress drifted down above her ankles in a puff of air.

Trying to catch her breath Belle looked over her shoulders, turned in circles and still couldn’t believe her eyes as she caught sight of her shadow.

“Well?” Madame Vendrobe asked, already sounding proud of herself. “What do you think?” She opened one of the doors that had a full length mirror inside.

Belle edged nearer, enamoured with what she saw. It took her breath away! Surely it wasn’t real? She waved her hand experimentally in front of the glass. It _was_ her! But she looked so … so … _elegant_! The pinafore dress she now wore was made of a soft, primrose yellow colour with small pink roses dotted over the fabric. Lace trimmed the collar, cuffs and lower hem of the skirt. The silk bodice was soft –she hated the ones that had bones inside them –and fitted to her like a second skin. The ribbons trailed down around her hips. Her hair had been coiffed and fell down her back in a gently waved ponytail.

The dress was _beautiful_!

“This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with excitement. How marvellous that Madame Vendrobe was here at all! She twirled again in front of the mirror, excited even by her hairstyle. She hadn’t noticed the ribbons running through her hair, but now that she saw it she loved it. Her dark hair hung in loose ringlets, two sections scraped back from above her ears, and wrapped with yellow ribbons. They fastened at the back in a skinny bow.  
Turning to Madame Vendrobe, Belle frowned. “Are you sure it’s okay to wear this around the castle? What if it gets dirty?” She’d had so many nightmares throughout the last few months at having to wash dirt, dust and grease from her few, sensible dresses.

The oak-being raised an ornate border. “What exactly would a young girl like you be doing getting _dirty_?”

Belle shrugged bashfully not wanting to divulge anymore of her past life than she already had to the house-staff ornaments downstairs. It had been such a long night and yet, it seemed like an entirely different lifetime ago. “It always seems to happen to me. I may trip or sit on something I shouldn’t have and _voila_! Dirty.”

If wardrobes could shake their heads, Madame Vendrobe was doing that now. She seemed utterly bemused at the prospect of a girl of any age running around and getting into such situations. Belle supposed that was the case; did young princesses even run around? Or did they start their etiquette lessons as soon as they could sit upright? “You young girls these days. You don’t know what’s good for you. Always running around and getting mucky!”

Belle smiled wanly. “I’m sure Lumiére and …. What was his name? …. Cogsworth, won’t let me go anywhere too dirty.”

“See that they don’t,” Vendrobe frowned in –what Belle could assume was –a disapproving manner. “That’s a very pretty dress. Perhaps tomorrow I shall see about something more agreeable for rolling around in the dust.”  
Belle wasn’t entirely sure if the Madame was joking or not. Before she could ask, however, there came a knock at her door.

“Open up, _Mademoiselle_ , it’s time for your tour!” called a charming voice. She recognised it as Lumiére. She smiled. Finally, a laid-back personality, if only by a small margin.

Turning back to her wardrobe, she smiled and curtsied, “It was a pleasure meeting you, _Madame_. I promise not to ruin the dress. It’s far too lovely. I shall see you this evening, perhaps?”

“Where am I to go?” Madame replied archly. “I’m a wardrobe, dear.”

Belle pressed her lips together before hurrying to the door. The last thing she wanted to do was insult anyone. Especially someone who had made a beautiful dress just for her. She would need to be more careful from now on.


	8. Chapter VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At bit of a longer update this time. I hope everyone is enjoying the atmosphere of the castle?-

**_Chapter VII_ **

 

 

 

The castle was much larger than Belle had anticipated as she followed Cogsworth –a rather beautiful antique clock –and Lumiére from floor to floor. The plush, red carpet that striped most of the main hallways and staircases was thick and deep underfoot, giving Belle the impression that it had been years since proper feet had passed over it. There was definitely a feeling of absence in the castle; cobwebs clung in discreet corners, dust formed thick coverlets on most of the furniture in various rooms, and Belle was almost sure she’d smelled rust starting up in some of the suits of armour.

The black stone walls seemed to radiate the cold from outside.

Only the heat from the sconces mounted on the walls helped ward it off.

As they walked, Cogsworth indulged himself in informing Belle about all the history of the castle, from before his time. To an extent she found it all interesting, she had always loved older architecture, especially anything Baroque -however when she let herself zone out –only managing to ‘um’ and ‘ah’ in the right places –she found herself more interested in wandering off the main route.

She let her feet guide her.

Lumiére tried to actually engage her into the conversation but his voice seemed to drift off into a dull murmur. There was so much of the castle to explore, however, and after a while she felt as though her legs were turning to stone.

She had questions itching to be asked at the back of her head, but she was too afraid to ask. A lot of the people –namely Mrs. Potts –were extremely closed-off on the subject of the Master. They’d drop a small piece of information, just enough to entice her, but then they’d realise that their mouths were running-off and they’d shut up. She didn’t want to feel like she’d be stepping on people’s toes by asking.

She was sure she’d get to see him, eventually, but after last night she felt a little apprehensive about it all. All these mutterings about him being ‘ _cursed’_ and how that had affected him, physically and mentally. Everyone was ornaments or furniture or silverware –so what did that make the Master in the grand scheme of things?

A tremor ran down her spine as she pushed the thought away.

 

“ _Mademoiselle?”_

Belle blinked, finding herself standing in front of two large double doors. “Sorry,” she murmured, brushing a stray stand of hair out of her eyes. “Did I miss something?”

“We were wondering if you wanted to have something to eat. Mrs. Potts has organised a light lunch for you in the dining room. We can escort you down and then pick up the tour later this afternoon.”

Despite the hunger that had been building inside her, she recoiled from the large, aggressively carved doors. Her appetite was evaporating quickly. “Is … Is the Master inside?”

Lumiére clinked closer to her and shook his long, waxy head. “No, _ma Cherie,_ he shan’t be joining you today.”

_Today.  
_

That meant that maybe he _would_ want to dine with her. 

Belle was a little relieved and disturbed at the same time. She was still getting used to talking to the dining ware. She wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to handle –whatever the Master was. She kept imagining a hairier version of Grégoire –but knew that was being unfair. She hadn’t even spoken to the Master yet. She had no reason to judge him based on the heresy of others. She knew all too well what it was like to have people whispering behind her back.

She’d had enough of it back in town.

However … he didn’t want her here. He’d thrown a fit the previous evening.

Following Lumiére and Cogsworth down towards the dining room, Belle saw that everything was set up for her down one end of the table. It was all neat and properly placed just like the etiquette books she’d read through. It made her feel so insignificant as she stared down at all the gleaming forks. Like she was a young girl again, playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

“This all looks lovely,” she managed to say, looking at the small plates in front of her.

“Well we hope you enjoy the food!” Lumiére exclaimed theatrically as he clambered up onto the polished table top. He clapped his two gold arms, the soft ‘clink-clink’ echoing in the cavernous room. It sent a chill through Belle’s chest as the doors behind her burst open. Mrs. Potts appeared with the little teacup. Beside them was another silver dome covered dish. Probably dessert.

“You needn’t go through so much trouble,” Belle insisted feeling awful at being made a fuss over. “I’m used to such simple things at home. I don’t want you to go out of your way for no reason.”

“Do you not like the food?” Mrs. Potts asked softly.

“Oh, I do!” Belle said. “It’s delicious! It’s just –so rich and so much. I’m not used to it!”

‘ _And I won’t need to get used to it if I’m not staying here long,’_ she thought as she bit her lower lip. There was no point getting used to amazing cuisine when she’d be escorted straight back to her farmhouse with the simple tastes, threadbare rugs and thin walls.

“Eat up, dear,” Mrs. Potts urged. “You mustn’t waste good things when they come into your life, no matter how long they’re there for.”

Belle hated to admit it, but the little teapot had a point.

She ate through the food quite quickly, not realising just how hungry all the walking had made her. There were so many flavours that she couldn’t put a name to! One moment her mouth was filled with something creamy, then crunchy, then something so sweet her back teeth exploded with sugar! Her stomach protested a little but, for the first time in a long time, she ignored it –and not to starve herself! She drank cup after cup of warm, sugary tea too –giggling as the teacup blew bubbles up her nose.

Once she was done, she was almost tempted to loosen the ribbons of her bodice just to breathe a little easier.

“I couldn’t eat another bite,” she smiled gratefully as Mrs. Potts shooed the silverware away. Chip –the teacup –hopped over to her having been refilled. Belle was grateful but wasn’t even sure she could stomach more tea!

“That’s alright, dear, at least you can relax a little more now,” the teapot smiled sweetly.

“I was wondering,” Belle trailed off, her eyes downcast as she reclined in the dining chair. The wood was smooth and cool through her dress.

“What is it, dear?”

“Everyone, including yourself, seems too skittish to talk about the Master? As unsettled as I feel by all I know, including talking to the furniture –sorry!” she added, clasping a hand around her mouth. Where were her manners? Smoothing her hands down her dress she bit her bottom lip. “Will I be meeting with him any time soon?”

“It’s wrong for us to keep you in the shadows,” Mrs. Potts conceded. “Unfortunately, the Master has deemed it fit that we don’t say anything else. He’ll introduce himself to you when he decides the time is right. Perhaps he’ll want to dine with you sometime soon.”

“I feel as though he is repulsed by me.” She let out an indignant laugh, “and he hasn’t even met me yet!”

If Mrs. Potts had hands, Belle was sure she would have placed one on top of her own. She really needed that human contact right now. “Don’t let it get to you, love. For now, try and enjoy your time here.”

“How am I to do that?”

“Why not go skating on the pond? Or a walk around the gardens? Or maybe even find something in the castle to keep yourself occupied?”

“What is there to do?” Belle asked, genuinely curious.

Mrs. Potts frowned. “Well … What are _your_ hobbies, dear?”

“A little bit of everything,” Belle admitted, fiddling with the bottom hem of her bodice. “I did some inventing when I lived at home. Along with sewing, painting, mending things, and baking.”

“Oh my!” Mrs. Potts blinked and then smiled. “Okay, well I’m sure we can find something for you to do.”  


 

 

As they walked up a few tall, curving staircases towards the drawing room, Belle couldn’t help but think of ideas to try and get the Master to like her. It was such an unusual thought process for her. No one had ever been interested in being her friend and she’d felt much the same about most other people. Now she was actively trying to think of ways to please someone who didn’t even want her in his home.

“Does he celebrate his birthday?” she asked idly as she turned the door handle. It unnerved her when the doors opened for her, as though the entire castle were flooded with ghosts just itching to serve her.  
“Not anymore, dear. It’s been ten years like this. The loneliness makes it hard for him to bear celebrating another year passed.”

Belle frowned as she held the door open for the trolley to wheel itself in. She was still bemused about how they’d gotten up the stair in the first place. “What about if I were to do something nice for him? Change the routine?”

“Unfortunately the Master doesn’t like it when his routine gets upset. One of the reasons he hasn’t introduced himself just yet is because he isn’t used to having guests.”

_There was that word again.  
_

“Well, if he doesn’t break this routine, he’s just going to go mad from it all.” Even as she said the words, she knew that it may have already turned that point.

 

The drawing room was dull; the lack of colour accentuated by the strip of light glaring in through the thick, dusty curtains. The air smelled foul of dust and disuse. It was an unwelcoming, dry smell that made Belle think of the dusty cupboard at the back of their stable. “Oh! This room hasn’t been used in a long time!” she exclaimed, holding a hand to her mouth so as not to inhale too much dust.

“I hadn’t realised it had been so long,” Mrs. Potts admitted, sadly, her bright gold eyes roaming over the furniture.

Poking her tongue into the corner of her mouth, Belle let her eyes roam around the room. The furniture was covered in thick, dust-coated sheets. The floors hadn’t been scrubbed in so long and the fireplace was as cold as a grave.

A tremor ran through her.

It was the feeling of eyes boring down on her again.

She rubbed the hairs on the back of her neck, peeking over her shoulder just to make sure that she wasn’t _actually_ being watched. As far as she could tell, nothing in this particular room used to be human. There was an unnatural stillness to it all.

“Would it be inappropriate –if I were to clean this room before I used it?” Belle asked her skin feeling itchy just standing in the doorway.

Mrs. Potts started. “Oh, Miss, no! If the dust bothers you I can get the staff to come and clean any rooms you go into?”

Belle smiled and waved the suggestion away. “Don’t worry about that! I don’t mind cleaning it. This is only a small room, after-all. I’m used to cleaning my entire house and the stables behind.”

Mrs. Potts frowned, clearly not shining to the idea of having some work taken away from her and the rest of the staff. “At the very least, let me send up a dining cart with some cleaning products for you.”

“That would be nice of you.”  


 

That’s how Belle spent the rest of her day.

As much as cleaning was a chore, it was nice to do it in a warm environment with the fire roaring brightly down the other end of the room. Before the cleaning supplies came to her aid, Belle had uncovered all of the furniture, opened the windows wide and hung the filthy sheets over the balcony to let the wind take the worst of the dust away. She swept the floors, washed them down, and then went on to clean the windows.

The feather duster leading the charge of the room –Juliette –helped her dust the highest shelves that she couldn’t reach, as well as the cobwebs hanging in the tight little corners and around the mounted swords above the fireplace. Belle had to tie a handkerchief around her face in order to get rid of the worst of her coughing. It helped the time go by fairly quickly. She barely paid a second glance to the few books in the windowed cabinets; she reasoned that she’d have a fair bit of time to come back to them before the Master sent her on her way.

She had found a few moth holes in the chaise lounge and the cushions spread out on the window seat in the alcove. With a needle and thread, she made herself useful and mended the holes. All the days spent cooped up in the seamstresses shop were finally paying off with more than just patching up her clothes. They were barely even visible as she plumped them up in their original place.

Once she was done, the sky outside had grown dark and she had the white sheets folded and cool in her arms. When she finally stopped and took a moment to survey her efforts she couldn’t help but feel the pride bloom in her chest. She looked around the room with a satisfied glow around her. It already looked more homey in comparison to the few places she’d peaked in on during her morning tour around the castle.

“Not a bad job,” she murmured to herself, still smiling as she took herself down to the kitchens. She was so elated that she barely noticed the weight of a pair of eyes following her movements.

Drawing in a deep breath she knocked on the doors of the kitchen and entered when she heard movement on the other side. Glancing around it took her a moment to focus on the crockery on the counter instead of looking for five-foot tall people walking around. Flushing, she peered around for Mrs. Potts and frowned a little when she couldn’t locate her. Hugging the folded sheets closer to her stomach, she walked over to the small kitchen table and placed said sheets neatly on top of them.

“Um … excuse me?” she asked.

The chattering crockery hushed before several pieces turned to look at her. Even the large, blackened stove seemed to lean towards her enquiringly.

“ _Oui ma Cherie?”_ the stove asked in a deep, rumbling voice.

Belle took a step back, her hip bumping against the table. “I –er –I’m done in the drawing room. These are the sheets from the furniture. Mrs. Potts told me to bring them down when I was done with them.”

She was talking to furniture.

Shaking her head a little, she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

“ _Ah, oui mademoiselle_!” the chef boomed cheerily. “Just leave them on the table! We can sort them out for you!”

Belle suddenly felt useless. She forced a smile and inclined her head. There was no one else about that she knew. No Lumiére, no Cogsworth –not even little Chip! It left her feeling isolated despite the plates and napkins milling around in front of her. It was almost as though she hadn’t left her Provincial town after all. The only exception being that the word ‘harlot’ wasn’t on everyone’s lips. Feeling unsettled, Belle cast one last glance around the stuffy kitchen before turning on her heel and making her way up to the room.

For the remainder of the day Belle kept herself locked away in her room. Madame Vendrobe had not been impressed with the dust prints all over the hem of her primrose dress, but she insisted that it wouldn’t take long for her to make it good as new again.

“That’s not necessary,” Belle had assured her meekly, already loosening the ties of her bodice. “I think I may just read in the armchair for a while. It’s been a long day.”

That had settled the matter.

However, within the hour Belle found that reading wasn’t able to distract her from the situation she was currently in. She was forcing herself to go about her normal routines, she realised. Staring through the fire she leaned her chin in her hand and let her mind wonder. The book lie limply in her lap, the pages fluttering lazily until she lost her place.

It didn’t matter.

Why wasn’t reading helping to distract her?

Usually she just needed to open a book and it’d whisk her away to another part of the world entirely.

The wind continued to howl beyond the windows. Why was the weather so dreadful here? It was like an entirely different pocket of time, suspended in winter. It wasn’t even the beautiful sort of winter where everything was suspended in a white, glittering frost. It was the harsh, brutal winter that stole the breath from your lungs and left you locked outside freezing to death.

‘ _I wonder how Papa is coping without me_ ,’ she couldn’t help but think as she stared at towards the horizon.

It was true she’d only been at the castle for almost an entire day, but she’d never had so much time to herself before. Maybe she had when she’d been younger, but those days blended together into a haze of golden summer afternoons, cosy evenings reading on her belly by the hearth until her eyelids grew heavy, feeding the chickens as they pecked around the plush garden. Those had been happy, carefree times.

Now she was stuck here.

‘ _Maybe the Master will let Bertrand take a message to my Papa when I finally meet him?_ ’ she pondered. ‘ _Surely he couldn’t argue against that?_ ’

Boredom was a curious thing.

She’d never really had the time or freedom to be bored before.

She could understand why people hated it so, and why her dear old Papa fought against it as much as he could by tinkering away at his inventions. Perhaps such a trait was hereditary? As the day wore on outside, the sky growing darker and darker, Belle didn’t feel as though her mind were quieting down. She fidgeted in the chair and placed the book on the table. If she were at home she’d have probably gone to bed right now, after tucking her Papa into his bed and banking the fires.

‘ _You could always go exploring in the castle?_ ’ the voice in the back of her head suggested. It made her feel a little cold and upset. She rarely even went into the forest by herself, why would she want to go wondering around the castle at night?

‘ _Well if you’re not going to sleep you might as well explore, non?_ ’

There was a logic to the suggestion –as much as she didn’t want to walk around in the cold darkness. What if something frightening her? What if she screamed and angered the Master? The last thing she wanted was a confrontation in the middle of the night.

‘ _Then what’re you going to do about your restlessness?_ ’ her mind chided. ‘ _If the bed is really human, how do you think it’ll feel with you fidgeting all night?_ ’

Belle flinched, her eyes slowly looking at the gaping canopy bed on the other side of the room. Could it really be a human? Surely it would have said something by now, if that was the case? Her stomach knotted inside her. Through the latticed windows Belle watched as the swollen moon rose higher in the sky between the fluffy black clouds.

Maybe she would go for a walk in the castle, just to tire her mind out a little more.

After-all the only reason she was so exhausted at the homestead lately was because of all the work she did around the farm. With her mind made up she unfurled herself from the armchair, her feet freezing on the marble floor. She scurried silently onto the rug and drew her brocade robe even tighter around her and lit the small taper on her nightstand.

A small bubble of light illuminated the room, weakly.

She shielded the small flame with her hand so as not to wake Madame Vendrobe. She already felt like she was on thin ice with the elegant –person? –and didn’t want to irritate her further. Shuffling her feet into soft, flat slippers, Belle carried her candle across the room, pressed down on the handle and tiptoed out into the black hallway beyond.

 

 

 

The castle was silent; it stretched in every direction, tall, solid and cold around her. Like the world’s largest tomb. Belle’s mouth ran dry as she reached her hand out away from the light and flinched when her fingertips brushed against the stone wall. She used it to guide herself. Whenever the wall stopped at a corner, she hitched her breath in fear in case something loped out of the darkness and attacked her. Her legs were protesting, desperate for her to return to bed.

Every part of her was torn between exploring to exhaust herself and looking for some way to escape and run home to her Papa.

Now that she had time to herself, her mind ran through all that had happened over the last day and a half. She had been tricked into a castle, to be a companion for a man who didn’t even like her presence let alone have the decency to introduce himself to her. The only thing truly stopping her from trying to run away is that, by tomorrow morning at least, her Papa will have company by way of an experience, well-paid doctor.

‘ _I’m doing this for Papa!_ ’ she thought with renewed determination. It would soon become her mantra.

Her slippers whispered over the thick carpet as she crossed yet another landing. She gazed out over the open entrance hall and felt her stomach drop. It was a huge, shadowed place, reaching higher than her eyes could see and dropping low into the darkness. Her stomach churned. Gripping the candle holder tighter, she moved around the balcony, her hands trailing along the stonework for guidance. It was cold and unnaturally smooth under her palms as she crept along.

She nearly dropped her candle when something white flashed beside her.

Pressing her hand over her mouth she peered closer and closer until –CLUNK!

Her forehead hit the cold, hard surface of a mirror. Staring at her own wide, dark eyes Belle felt her insides harden with fear. She pressed her palm flat against the cold glass and shivered. What a curious place to put a mirror. Peering up, candle aloft, she could see that the intricate metal borders wove all the up to the ceiling, disappearing into the darkness.

Swallowing, Belle returned her gaze to the mirror and the dim reflection staring back at her.

Had she … always looked like that?

The candle quaked in her trembling hand.

Pushing herself away from the mirror she backed up a couple of steps before letting out a soft sigh. Any curiosity had bled out of her. It was as though the darkness had leeched the tiresome energy from her muscles and her brain. All she could think about in that moment was returning to her bedchamber.

‘ _It’s not a problem_ ,’ she tried to assure herself as she wrapped her free hand around her middle for some extra semblance of warmth. ‘ _You have a lot of spare time to explore the castle. There’s no rush_.’

Feeling ill, Belle padded back through the long, cold hallways towards her bedchamber. She made sure to keep quiet as she opened the door and tiptoed to her large bed. Madame Vendrobe seemed to groan softly in her sleep. Belle cupped her hand around the flickering flame and did her best not to cause any disturbance as she eased herself into bed and blew the candle out.

Her peace of mind vanished just as quickly.


	9. Chapter VIII

**_Chapter VIII_ **

 

 

 

For the rest of her first month in the castle, Belle tidied the few rooms she frequented, with some help from the staff. They were more than happy to attend to her needs, most of them just glad to have a sense of purpose again.

She wrote letters to her father frequently. Sometimes even twice a week, even going as far to draw detailed images on parchment of the rooms in the castle and the grounds that she could see from the windows and towers she had access to. She hadn’t told him anything about the fact that the household staff where ornaments. She simply described their personalities and told him that Mrs. Potts was being ever so lovely to her. She made sure to ask him about his health and hoped that the Master’s doctor was treating him well and making sure he got plenty of exercise in and around the house.

Her father didn’t write back nearly as much, but she didn’t fault him for that. However, after sending her latest letter, she couldn’t help but realise her hobbies had dwindled down far too much. With a frown, she idly glanced at Madame Vendrobe as she snoozed in the corner. She couldn’t help but be reminded of her odd jobs at the seamstress’ shop in town. She did miss sewing. As much as she liked the clothes Madame Vendrobe concocted for her, she couldn’t help but feel that even the drabbest ones, were too elegant for venturing around the castle in.

Stroking her hair out of her eyes, she slumped down in the armchair. Maybe she needed to make some simple dresses for herself? Madame Vendrobe probably wouldn’t allow it. She didn’t want to offend the wardrobe’s fashion sense or style. Perhaps … Perhaps she could ask the Master for some from town? That would mean she would actually have to meet him. Unless …

A thought popped into her head. What if she just went to ask him herself? She knew that he most likely kept to himself in the Western Wing of the castle. Given it was the only part of the castle she was forbidden to enter, it only made sense. She was even allowed in the boiler room for goodness sake!

Then again … Biting her lip, she caressed the handle of her teacup and it seemed to giggle as she did so. It had been over a month. The Master didn’t want to see her. He made a point of it. She’d even stopped asking after him in the last few days because her own disappointment and paranoia was making her nights rather sleepless.

From across the table she pulled her small, worn leather bound notebook into her lap. Flicking through the pages, Belle let her mind wander at the looked over her old sketches for inventions, trinkets, ideas that had never come into fruition because she just hadn’t had the time. Would it be different now? She had nothing but time on her hands.

Perhaps some of the ideas in her little book would help make her new life in the castle that little bit more interesting.

 

 

 

“Are you sure you want something so heavy and burdensome, _mademoiselle_?” Lumiére asked.

Belle glanced over her shoulder from where she was currently kneading some dough. Despite the staff’s reluctance to let her help in baking bread of the Master’s lunch, she had insisted. It wouldn’t hurt his impression of her, that much was for certain.

“Of course,” Belle quipped. “I am finding a lot of spare time on my hands and I’d rather make myself useful.”

“Oh, Miss, we’re used to how things are run here. True, it took some getting used to at first, but you needn’t worry yourself about it now!” Mrs. Potts chimed from her perch above the stove.

Blowing away a strand of hair, Belle shrugged and continued to knead the dough with her small fists. “Mrs. Potts please?” she gasped, letting her arms rest for a minute. “I have many ideas and why not make myself useful and experiment with them? I’d do it all the time at home if I hadn’t needed to work as much. I want to be able to tell my Papa that the Master is kind and generous, letting me have as much creative freedom as possible! I … I don’t want to lie to him. I don’t want my letters to him be filled with what I’m currently cleaning or waxing.”

The teapot gave a sympathetic look before exchanging a glance with Lumiére. “I suppose we can ask the Master for you,” the candelabra eventually said, although he didn’t sound convinced. “However, he isn’t known for being generous right now.”

Wiping her flushed brow, Belle turned around and wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron. “When am I to see the Master?” she asked.

“ _Mademoiselle_ –”

“I don’t mean to come across as rude, but he has had me escorted here above all the girls in the village! Whether he chose me or not, I am here! I deserve to know the man who is keeping me locked up!”

Her voice had risen, echoing almost shrilly in the cavernous room. Her heart was thrumming in her chest. Her fists were clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. As her mind cleared of anger, it was instantly replaced with embarrassment. She’d risen her voice to people –objects –who had done nothing but made her feel as comfortable as possible. Dropping her chin, she cleared her throat and did her best to dust the rest of the flour from herself.

“I’m sorry,” she finally murmured. “I just –thought it’d be something else to keep me occupied. That’s all.”

The weight of the ornaments’ gaze on the nape of her neck made her feel awkward as she continued to batter at the dough, made a couple of small loaves and then setting them on a greased tray for baking.

The atmosphere grew more stifling and by the time Belle decided to leave the kitchen, her mood had darkened considerably. Her head was reeling as she made her way up through the castle towards her bedchamber, shuddering a little as the cold crept beneath the folds of her dress. Despite the warmer days creeping over the world beyond the castle grounds, Belle felt as though she were permanently suspended in winter; as though she were living in a snow-globe. Resigning herself to yet another day torn between cleaning, reading and perhaps some sewing, depending on whether Madame Vendrobe was insulted or not, Belle changed into a plain smocking slip and set about the rest of her day.

 

 

 

 

~0~

 

 

 

 

 

 

Belle was reading a thin leather-bound book with vivid illustrations about various wild animals in far-off lands, when a soft knocking disturbed her from her bubble. Raising her head from her hand, Belle called out for them to come in.

The door clicked admitting the small tea-tray with Mrs. Potts perched on top. “I just thought you could use a spot of tea, dear,” she chimed as she wheeled herself over to where Belle was nestled.

Belle smiled wanly and set her book aside. “It was getting a bit nippy in here. Your tea always seems to hit the spot.” As Mrs. Potts poured her a cup, Belle licked her lips and frowned down at her lap. “I’m sorry for being so petulant earlier.”

Mrs. Potts frowned down at the girl. “Oh, don’t be silly dear!” she tutted. “It’s hard being cooped up in the same place day after day. Believe me, we all know. It is difficult. I suppose we just –hadn’t anticipated you having such _unique_ hobbies.”

“Unique?” Belle quirked an eyebrow. “You mean ‘odd’?”

Mrs. Potts faltered a little but nodded her small rounded body. “Yes, dear. In the traditional sense, at least. I was just under the impression that young girls like yourself –well –don’t they like embroidery, lessons in etiquette and dancing?”

For the first time in days Belle managed to let out a small huff of a laugh. “Yes, usually they do. I, however, was never a part of those lessons or outings.”

“Why ever not, dear?”

“It’s complicated,” Belle fiddled with the edge of her book. “My Papa was able to teach me a couple of things. Before he got ill.”

Mrs. Potts wisely didn’t press for my information. Belle accepted the teacup that skipped along the table towards her hand. She sipped at the tea feeling the warmth rush through her and revelled in it. “I can ask the Master for some specific things from town if you’d like, Miss,” the teapot offered. “If you are getting bored, that is. Although, now that the days are getting longer outside you could go for walks across the grounds. Or skating on the lake.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Belle smiled sweetly. “I’m sure I’ll skate when I’m in the mood for it.”

Mrs. Potts gave a smile before the crockery skipped back onto the tea trolley. “I shan’t keep you from your reading, dear. Just give me a call when you feel ready for some dinner.”

“Thank you, I will do!” Belle called after her just as the close eased closed.

Sinking back into the plush chair, Belle resumed her reading though her mind wasn’t completely focused on the writing or the pictures on the page. She had made up her mind a couple of hours prior. Today was the day that she was finally going to see the Master and find out just why he was so adamant to ignore her.

 

 

  


Belle glanced at herself in the tall mirror in the other corner of the room –she really didn’t want to wake up Madame Vendrobe. She thought that she looked decent enough; her dress was a deep, rich purple colour with tiny white flowers embroidered on the hemline. It was the most regal thing she'd ever worn in her life. There was a white lace trim and her waist was cinched in with black ribbons. Her hair was coiled up at the nape of her neck, a simple purple ribbon tied in it, the ends tickling the back of her neck.

‘ _I think I look pretty enough_ ,’ she frowned, turning from side to side. The last thing she wanted to do was to disgust the Master even further. Considering he already didn’t like her mere presence in his enormous castle, the last thing she wanted to do was vex him.

The same thought occurred to her when she was outside the tall, scarred doors that led into the Western Wing. A tremor ran through her and settled like a cold weight in her stomach. It made her feel sick.

She was suddenly aware that no one else knew what she was doing. In hindsight, she knew she was being reckless. However, at the time, her heart had been beating too wildly in her ears for her to make sense of anything. Her hand froze in midair when she was about to knock on the wrecked wood.

‘ _Maybe I should head back?_ ’ she thought, taking a step away.

“No,” she hissed, “He can’t keep ignoring me. This isn’t fair!”

She raised her hand and knocked.

She could hear it echo in the cavernous room on the other side. Nothing stirred beyond. There were no sounds, no presence that she could feel. Yet there was still that … _something_.

Before she lost her resolve, she pushed her weight against the door. It groaned loudly in her ears. Taking a step inside, she blanched at the magnitude of the room beyond, as well as the destruction she could see littered about. Her heart hammered inside her. It was like an army had trampled through the room, destroying most of the furniture in its wake. Even the bed, with its slashed canopy, gutted mattress, and torn pillows, felt as though something uncommonly strong and un-man-like had done it all.

It scared her.

A chill ran down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up on end.

“H-Hello?” she squeaked out, her voice cracking with terror. “Hello?” she tried again, louder this time.

There was no answer.

Nothing stirred.

Edging further into the room, Belle narrowed her eyes so as to side-step any upturned furniture. She didn’t want any splinters or to be jabbed by any broken wood. Her chest was growing tighter and her muscles tensed up, like stone. She was sure she could smell her own sweat, with how sick with fear she felt.

Just as she was about to turn on her heel and hurry out of the room, back to the warmth of her own bedchamber, when something glimmered through the darkness. Her breath caught in her throat. Through the curtains of cobwebs and dust floating in the shafts of daylight filtering in through the boarded up windows, Belle edged around the ‘L’ bend of the room. Shifting over the broken objects littering the floor, she saw a small, highly polished table standing near a curved tower window-seat. The cross-hatched windows were boarded up in a hazardous manner. Upon the table, beneath an intricately cut glass dome, stood the most luxurious blood-red rose she’d ever seen.

Curiosity r ran through to her bones, her feet guiding her closer.

She knew she shouldn’t be here.

The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end, but she was fixed in a trance.

The petals gleamed, beckoning her closer until she could almost see her reflection in the highly polished table top. Lifting her hand, she smoothed a finger along the details etched into the glass. It was so beautiful! She hadn’t even seen stained-glass windows this detailed –not up close anyway. Without thinking, she lifted the dome. It weighed a lot more than she’d anticipated, her arms trembling as she set it aside, exposing the rose to the stale air in the room.

The petals glowed a rich magenta colour of her hand as she reached for it, wanting to see just how velvety soft they were when –

“Don’t touch it if you value your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel slightly bad for making you wait this long for a cliff hanger! :D


	10. Chapter VIIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews! It really means a lot!

**_Chapter VIIII_ **

 

 

“ _Don’t touch it if you value your life_.”

 

 

Belle swallowed a scream as a hulking figure bled out of the shadows.

It loomed at least eight foot tall, making her feel as small as a mouse. A rush of cloth and air swept past her, the figure entombing the rose in the dome with a firm ‘SMACK’ of glass on wood. The heat emanating from the tall form made her cheeks flush an ugly pink. Words lodged in her throat as she stared up at the creature, the shafts of light illuminating only a fraction of his being.

It was still enough for terror to seize her.

From what she could see, he was huge; she was almost certain she saw black claws scraping against the stone floor, the arched legs reminded her of the wolves she’d seen prowling at the edges of the forest. The thick, scraggly hair seemed matted and unkempt as she followed the legs up to tattered clothing, a cape that was nothing more than strips of raw cloth, rips and tears exposing the arched back, the coarse fur, the mane, the horns, the firm jaw with sharp fangs sneering down at her, wet and waiting.

It was all too much.

Its voice had been so deep she felt her bones vibrate with every word. She worked her mouth open but no sound came out. Looming over her, the creature sneered, its sharp fangs gleaming menacingly. “Why did you come here?” he growled, his hackles rising. Her feet wouldn’t move, her voice wouldn’t work and she was numb with fear.

“You know you’re not allowed here,” his voice rose. “And you dare to try and _touch_ something that _doesn’t_ belong to you?”

“I … I-I’m sorry …” she stammered. Her voice was so weak as his own echoed out around her.

“Sorry?” he sneered, his voice reverberating around the room. “Get out!” he flung his thick arm at her. She ducked away, half expecting him to hit her. She backed up against something hard and rough. It was made of wood, she knew that much. 

“I’m sorry …” she mumbled again, feeling finally ebbing back into her body.

“Get out!” he roared, his voice thundering through her skull. She flinched as he reached for a chair. It crashed into the stone, two feet from her. “GET. OUT!”

She wasted no time.

She hurried straight for the door.

She was so blinded by fear that she wasn’t looking where she was going; she tripped over an upturned footstool and went sprawling against the stone. She let out a yelp of pain, tears burning in her eyes as she smacked down onto the flagstones. It didn’t stop her. She scrambled for freedom and was blinded by the light in the main hallway. She tripped and staggered down the staircase to the entrance hall, her skinned knees burning as she ran. The hard wood of the door winded her as she collided with it, scrambling with the heavy knocker to tug it open.

The bitter wind cut through her skin like a knife through butter.

It ripped the hair away from her face, stung her eyes and set her teeth on edge. She bent her head under her arm, shielding her eyes from the onslaught of frigid air. Clamping her eyes closed she pushed forward against the howling wind, her feet slipping on the sleet-covered stone bridge way. Her mind was bursting with the _thing_ she’d just seen!

The snarling fangs, the raised hackles – _the claws_! All of it made her sick with dread.

‘ _I’ve been living with that!_ ’ she thought, her mouth filling with ice. ‘ _I’ve been under the same roof as that creature with only a door to protect me!_ ’

Cracking her eyelids open she winced. The sleet was smacking her face, making it chapped and raw. She felt as though she’d been walking for ages over the bridge, her arms bound tightly around her in a desperate attempt to lessen the whiplash. She’d barely moved three metres from the door. How was that even possible?

She ploughed onward, but whenever she closed her eyes and opened them again, she was right back to the very start of the bridge.

An icy jolt throbbed through her stomach. She felt sick. Just as she was about to break into a run, her boot slipped on the sleek stone and she fell hard. Her bones knocked against the thick bricks, her teeth chattering so hard she was sure she’d bitten her tongue. Digging her nails into the grooves, she tried to claw her way forward. She felt the thin bones snap. Her fingertips were frozen solid as she grappled with the floor. Her skirts clung, stiff and cold to her skin. She was freezing to the bridge, having barely crawled over the chasm that opened up like an abyss beneath her.

She was feeling so tired.

The sleet was gluing her eyes shut. Her teeth were frozen through and her hands were turning blue. Her brain was feeling sleep, flurries of snow swirling behind her eyelids.

Her vision blurred as she peered to the other end of the bridge. How was it still so far away?

She’d felt like she’d walked for miles.

Why had she run?

Why wasn’t she at home with Papa?

_Why … Why … Why …_

 

 

 

~0~

 

 

 

 

  
_Black shadows moving in the grey, flurried landscape …_

_Thick, strong arms lifting her  …_

_Coarse, warm fur pressed to her cheek …_

 

Lurching upright, Belle groaned at the onslaught of warmth and light. It felt like someone had force-fed her hot soup.

She was gagging on the sensations strumming through her as her mind tried to catch up. She was in the large four-posted bed in her bedchamber, the canopy familiar to her now after a month of living at the castle. The fire in the grate crackled softly, keeping the bedchamber comfortably warm, though it still felt like the hairs on her arms were alight. She shifted against the mattress and winced; every fibre of her being was aching with an icy burn that shot right through to her core. Everything felt heavy. She could barely shift her head on the pillow without hearing white noise fuzzing in her ears.

There was something damp on her forehead.

She was sure that she’d had a bath too, since the scent of soap singed her nose. Her eyes felt raw and scratchy as she took in the low light of the room. There was only one small candle stub by her bedside, and the low fire in the grate. The rest of the chamber was heavily shadowed. Inhaling deeply, she tenderly touched her thighs under the blanket. There was an itchiness to her skin that made her think of the sleet, ice and grit she’d scraped along. 

A sickening jolt shot through her when she heard a board creak outside.

Leaning up from her pillow a little, she scanned the room and then the strip of light under her door. Nothing moved across it. Still, she felt nauseous as she let herself sink back, dropping like a stone into the plush pillows.

A soft twinkling grew louder outside her chamber door.

She felt dread as her stomach rumbled. She was hungry, but felt sick at the prospect of chewing and swallowing. Her head was started to spin. The door clicked open and a tea trolley rolled in with Mrs. Potts at the helm.

“Good evening, dear,” she hummed softly as she rolled up to the head of the bed. “How’re you feeling?”

Belle tried to say something, but her throat did nothing but croak. With a sigh, she shook her head.

“That’s alright, don’t try and move. I’ve brought you a spot of tea and some porridge. It won’t fill you up that much, but it won’t put any strain on you.”

Belle shifted higher on the pillows. The small bowl teetered over onto her lap, a spoon already dipped into the steamy goo. She attempted to give a grateful smile to Mrs. Potts before lifting her heavy hand and gently spooning porridge up into her mouth. They settled into silence. As she ate and sipped at the tea, Belle felt her throat muscles moisten enough for her to try and speak a little.

“W-What … Hap-hap-pened …”

Mrs. Potts glanced up at her. “You went where you weren’t supposed to go. You got scared by the Master. You … You tried to run outside. You didn’t make it over the bridge.”

“Bridge … too long …”

“That’s just the enchantment, dear. Didn’t you notice that Burtrand didn’t bring the carriage over the bridge?”

Belle nodded mutely.

“It’s a one-way street. We can’t cross over the bridge unless the Master allows us. No one can cross over and into the castle without being trapped within the grounds. I’m afraid … There’s no going back for you, my dear.”

Despite having had a sneaking suspicion on the frigid flurries that had littered her mind during the ordeal, Belle felt a nauseating feeling flood through her at having those fears confirmed. Something inside her was rolling around. She felt as though her body was being spun in circles over and over. Her throat felt shorter. She barely managed to make a sound before leaning over the edge of her bed and vomiting into her chamber-pot.

Once the porridge was out of her system, she sank down onto her front, pressing herself into the mattress.

She felt her greasy skin explode with sweat again. A chill started to crawl up her body as she shuddered under the thick, soft duvet.

Mrs. Potts pressed her lips together, a concerned expression on her face. “Try and rest, dear. I’ll come by and check on you in a few hours.”

Belle made a low noise in her raw throat, the acidic taste of bile still hanging in the air. She watched as Mrs. Potts guided the trolley out of the room and out of earshot within the bowels of the castle. Soon, the soft crackling of the fire hushed her to sleep.

 

 

 

~0~

 

 

 

Pacing back and forth, he seethed as the last of the snow melted from his hackles and dripped onto the stone floor. His claws clacked as he paced.

 _'She had tried to run!_ '

That was the lone thought parading around his head as he ground his fangs together, tasting blood on his tongue.

“Master, please, she was just frightened!” Lumiére insisted, his face already starting to drip. He wasn’t fond of the Master when he was in this sort of mood. It was always left him on edge.

“SHE RAN FROM ME!” he snarled, his voice pounding off the stonework. “SHE’D RATHER RUN OUT IN A SNOWSTORM THAN BE AROUND ME!”

“When you jump out of the shadows and yell at her, of course she would!” Mrs. Potts snapped as she tottered into the room. She had a scowl etched onto her China face.

Growling, the Master turned away from her and started to pace. His hunched form cast long shadows over the dining room. Lumiére looked imploring at his ornamental companion, but she simply shook her head. “How is she?” he asked in a low voice.

“She wasn’t able to eat,” Mrs. Potts sighed. “She threw it up within minutes of finishing.”

“It is just the cold,” Lumiére said. “It’ll pass once she’s used to the warm again.”

“I’m going to check in on her every few hours. I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

The Master growled. “You shouldn’t pander to her. Isn’t that what you always told me?” he snapped. “You shouldn’t pander to attention-seekers.”

Mrs. Potts glowered up at him. “She is sick, Master,” she replied tightly. “Regardless of your feelings towards her, she’s here to stay until you let her leave. Right now, I’d prefer she was here. After hearing all the things she did back in that dreadful village, she wouldn’t get the rest and care she needs.”

He almost asked what the teapot meant by her words, but the Master refrained from asking. Instead he slumped down on his haunches, his tail flicking moodily against his legs.

His ears pricked to his servants’ conversation about the girl. He felt a tremor run up his arm, the thick coat of fur standing up on end. He’d felt something akin to remorse when he’d watched her flee, but the only reason he’d chased after her was to grab her by the arm and lock her up in her bedchamber, taking the keys with him.

Not even letting Mrs. Potts have a set.

Unfortunately, as soon as he’d seen the main entrance doors banging wildly in the freezing wind, he’d felt dread sink into his stomach.

It appeared that no one told her that the bridge was the boundary.

Whoever came in, would never get to go back out.

It was one of the reasons Burtrand and the other coachmen never crossed the boundary. In some ways it was a blessing. On the other hand, it made communication a little difficult.

“ _We’ll need to watch out to see if she develops a fever_ ,” Mrs. Potts was saying.

“Would you stop talking about that _GIRL_!” he yelled. His hackles raised, is fangs pressing forward.

“Master, she is ill!” Mrs. Potts snapped. “She’s going to get care regardless of what you say.”

“On top of that, Master, you need to apologise to the girl,” Lumiére hummed.

“Why should I?”

“If you hadn’t have scared her, she wouldn’t have tried to run away,” the candelabra stated.

“THIS IS MY CASTLE AND SHE WAS TRESPASSING!”

“You shouldn’t have yelled,” Mrs. Potts said in an even tone.

“SHE WAS IN MY BEDCHAMBER! I HAD EVERY RIGHT TO-”

“You shouldn’t have _yelled_.”

“I DON’T WANT AN ARROGANT LITTLE TART IN MY HOME! SHE IS USELESS TO ME! WHY SHOULD I –”

“You. Shouldn’t. Have. YELLED!” both Mrs. Potts and Lumiére shouted above his growing roar.

Sitting back, the Master growled low in his throat, but otherwise dropped his head to the floor. It wasn’t the first time they’d berated him for his temper. It was a constant source of nagging and lecturing, especially from his bold housekeeper, as the years had passed. Even when he was human, he’d gotten harassment for it.

Perhaps they were right, he conceded to himself.

Perhaps he hadn't handled the situation _perfectly_.

She’d been here a whole month and he hadn’t introduced himself. It was only right that her curiosity would get the better of her.

His ear twitched as he felt his anger abate. Now, because he’d scared her, she was suffering. As if being caught out of doors in that turbulent weather wasn’t bad enough, now the chill had clung to her blood and bones and resurfaced when her guard was down.

“What should I do?” he asked into his chest, his gaze still avoiding their own.

Sharing a glance with her waxwork friend, Mrs. Potts drew in a deep breath and moved a little closer. “You need to introduce yourself properly. Apologise for your behaviour –which was _awful_!” she added sternly as he opened his mouth to protest. “And try to make her feel welcome here.” She looked up at him for his reaction, which he kept closely guarded. “She’s going to be living here for a while, Master. She needs to feel like you don’t hate her if she’s ever going to come out of her shell properly. Besides,” she added, “Maybe some proper company will do _you_ some good as well.”

 

 

 

 

In the early hours of the following morning, before dawn broke over the earth, the Master entered the girl’s room with barely the hush of his tattered cape.

Nothing stirred on the other side of the room; Madame Vendrobe was snoozing in the corner, the fire had been banked behind its guard, and the candle was the only feeble source of light.

As he stood at the end of the four poster bed, he finally let himself _look_ at the girl. She was pale and greasy from the fever. He could smell how sick she was, the faint odour of ale and sweat rolling out of her pores. Her hair was black –it probably looked nicer when it was clean –and her figure was small, skinny, definitely in need of a good feeding.

Edging around, he leaned a little closer and saw the frown etched into her face despite being asleep. That stirred something inside the chasm of his chest. Her face was small, round, her cheekbones protruding a little too much. He felt the strangest urge to reach out to her, but he recoiled as if burned.

He hurried from the room and rampaged to his own bedchamber, his arms and legs pounding along the thick-stoned floor.

She _hadn’t_ stirred anything in him!

If she _had_  , it was simple the demonstration of how utterly powerless she was!

He was an animal, a deluded, crazed killer!

The only thing he felt towards her was hunger; a deeply rooted, unfathomable hunger that threatened to burst through his chest and devour her. He stopped pacing in his room, frozen in a shaft of the early morning light. There was only one question in his mind that made him freeze; what _exactly_ was the type of hunger he felt for that girl?

“Lord,” he hissed, bracing himself on all-fours. “What’s happening to me now?”


	11. Chapter IX

**_Chapter IX_ **

 

 

 

The girl had barely moved in three days.

The only reason he knew that was due to the abundance of ‘ _eyes’_ dotted throughout his palace.

The only time she had moved was after Mrs. Potts and the other staff had shifted her about whilst giving her a sponge-bath in the bed. Her skin was waxy in the firelight. Her hair was lank like limp black octopus arms. On the third night he was basking in the heat from his roaring fire inside the battered grate, when Mrs. Potts wheeled her cart inside with his dinner.

She organised his food in a leisurely silence, the Master asked; “How is the girl?”

Mrs. Potts rose her eyebrows a little but accepted the start of the conversation. “She managed to keep her breakfast down this morning,” she finally said. “She slept through the night too.”

“That’s promising, I take it?”

“Certainly, sir.”

He grunted to himself, intent on focusing on eating his own food. However, his mind was unable to stray too far from the image of the girl he’d seen the other evening. Running his tongue over his sharp teeth he turned to Mrs. Potts. “Perhaps I should go and introduce myself to her this afternoon.”

Another surprise.

“I think that would be best for all of us, Master,” she teapot stated. “We can only make excuses for you for so long, besides.”

He snorted but didn’t bother to argue.

He hadn’t wanted to be seen. He had no issue in silently admitting it to himself. Out loud was another matter entirely. After Mrs. Potts had wheeled the trolley out of his bedchamber, the Master turned toward the ornate hand-mirror on his side-table. It never strayed too far from his person if he could help it. Grabbing the handle, he held the black glass up to his face and spoke; “Show me the girl.”

The black glass gave way to a clear image of the bedchamber. The curtains had been drawn back letting in shafts of bleak sunlight. The girl looked cleaner than she had in days –perhaps she’d just bathed? –and was just fastening up the back of a simple home-spun dress. It reached down to her ankles, the sleeves drooping down a little too far over her hands. A dull red shawl was draped over her shoulders and she visibly shuddered.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she murmured to Madame Vendrobe.

“ _Think nothing of it, dear_ ,” the wardrobe preened.

The image faded just as someone knocked at the door.

The Master decided enough was enough. He needed to go downstairs and introduce himself properly. Now that the girl had some more strength in her, perhaps she would be able to process the new change to her world a little better.

He moved towards the door –then stopped when he caught sight of his hulking figure in the shattered mirror propped against the wall. He couldn’t be seen in such a state. Grimacing, he shifted his heavy paws over to a battered old chest and dropped the lid aside to look at the garments within. It had been a long time since he’d worn a proper shirt. Feeling the cotton brush against his fur set his teeth on edge.

He needed to show that he was willing to set aside any bad blood over the last month, and show that he could be amicable.

_Monster!  
_

He froze with his clawed paw on the doorknob.

There was every chance she didn’t want to be around him at all. The pressure’s she’d put her body through and fought against just to get away from him was proof of that. A bitter seed swelled in his chest. No, there was no going back from that. Releasing the door-handle, he pressed his head awkwardly against the oak door. His horns scraped and butted against it, the only sound he could hear through the roar of his blood in his down-turned ears.

With a deep, snarling grunt he grabbed the taut linen and shredded his way out of it, the lace cuffs floating down to the floor in a tattered mess. Stalking back towards the remnants of his bed, he tossed what was left of his shirt into the rumpled nest and crawled up onto the thick coverlets. A day spent in darkness and solitude sounded like the only thing he could manage.

 

 

Down in the dining hall Belle was being guided into the large, ornate room with the help of Mrs. Pott’s tea-tray acting as a support system for her. Her legs still wobbled and were weakened with almost four days bound in bed. Just making it down to the dining room was exhausting and causing her to sweat through the dress. She grimaced as she eased herself down into a cushioned seat and shuddered. The room was cool, the fire only just being lit in the grate.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Mrs. Potts asked as she shimmied onto the smooth table. “Do you think you can keep something down?”

“I –I can try,” Belle forced a weak smile.

“I’ll be right back,” Mrs. Potts soothed.

Belle watched her go, still confused as to how the ornaments in the castle worked and moved without hands and feet. Her mind was still shaking off the proverbial cold from her ‘dramatic exit’ so she tried to push such intense thoughts from her mind. Right now, focusing on eating was draining enough. Pulling the folds of the shawl tightly around her, she sank back into the tall chair and waited for the small breakfast she was sure to come.

Finally, a small meal of porridge, sweet tea and biscuits appeared before her.

The sight of it made her stomach churn but she forced herself to sit up and gingerly reach for the spoon. No one disturbed her until she sat back in her chair with the wriggling tea cup between her nimble fingers. She forced a smile as Mrs. Potts returned with the trolley wheeling itself through the door down the end of the room. “How’re you feeling, dear?” she chimed.

“Better,” she breathed, the warmth ebbing though her.

“Do you want to wait until I’ve put the dishes away, then I can come and take you back to your room?”

“Actually,” Belle frowned as she set the tea cup down. “I … Would you mind if I went to the drawing room?”

“Whatever for, dear?”

“There was a book in there I’d been reading,” she shrugged her shoulders. “I just feel … a little blank right now. A book always cheered me up.”

Mrs. Potts gave her an endearing smile and bowed her little china head. “You wait right there, darling. I’ll have Lumiére take you through.”

Belle smiled a little easier then.

She watched the little trolley wheel itself away, the twinkling of the china almost beautiful in her ears. She let her eyes take in the rest of the dining hall, the sheer magnitude of the grandeur surprising her; the ceilings were higher than she had ever seen, the windows were beautifully ornate and painted in so many colours. She wondered how it would look if the shutters weren’t closed against the sunshine. Pressing her back into the firm chair, she glanced around at the statues carved into the stonework and the beautiful tiled floor. How many halls were in this place? Had there been large, elaborate balls here? When had they stopped? Why did no one in the village ever speak of such things? Had it … all been lost to history?

“Ma Cherie?”

Belle jolted in her seat, her eyes flickering around before settling on the candelabra hopping along the dining table. “Oh. Bonjour Lumiére.”

“Mrs. Potts said you wished to go to the drawing room?”

“Is that okay?” she frowned, worrying her bottom lip. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

 “Not at all, Ma Cherie!” he beamed. “Let us go! I have already informed the servants to get a fire ready for you.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“Up you get, _petite fleur,_ it’ll take us a while to get up those stairs.”

Belle wanted to blush a little at the pet-name, but didn’t have full control over her body. It took all of her energy to get up out of the dining chair and follow Lumiére out into the main entrance hall. The air was colder here. Belle drew her shawl tighter around her body, already anticipating wrapping her legs up in the thick throws she knew were warming up in the drawing room. It made climbing the numerous stairs a little easier on her weary legs.

 

 

The drawing room was a familiar space to Belle as she pressed down on the gilt door handle and allowed Lumiére to enter before her. The _tink-tink-tink_ of gold on tiles was almost charming. He hopped onto the small side table and lit the inanimate candelabra stations there, as well as the sconces and other candles in the room. The shutters all around the castle, bar a few rooms, were permanently locked. That bothered Belle a little, however she reasoned that the estate was frozen in a perpetual winter. She could only look at snow for so long before it gave her a headache.

Settling down into the over-stuffed sofa, Belle quickly pulled the throw blanket down over her legs and bundled it around her. The fire was crackling merrily and was warm against her skin. She wasn’t too close that it would bother her for several hours. She felt quite comfortable.

“Are you quite comfortable ma Cherie?” Lumiére asked.

“ _Oui Lumiére_ ,” she smiled softly, already picking up her book from where she’d left it on the table last week. It hadn’t moved. “ _Merci_ for your help.”

“If you need any assistance, just call for one of us and we shall be here at a moment’s notice!”

Belle chuckled as she watched the gold candelabra smile charmingly up at her, before turning and hopping out of the door. She was once again left to her own devices, yet for the first time in the last few days she didn’t feel powerless. She was comfortable and content to just recline along the sofa and read by candlelight. With a soft sigh, she brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and made herself comfier against the plush cushions before propping the book open on her lap and finding the place she’d last left-off.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

The skies had darkened a few hours ago and the Master had heard nothing from any of his servants.

This wasn’t unusual to him by any means, however they now had a guest in their midst and due to said circumstances, he liked to be reminded as to the girl’s whereabouts. The last he’d heard was that she’d taken to the Drawing Room. Was it possible that she was still there? Sighing deeply, he stretched out the kinks that had knotted into his muscles before scraping his claws along the flagstones, sharpening their dull edges. As he had nothing better to do, he’d might as well patrol for a while and perhaps check to see if the girl had returned to her room.

It wouldn’t do for her to be wandering around by herself. Not after what happened last time.

The candlelight that illuminated the stone walls had dimmed down to a dim glow, keeping just enough wick alight for him to see by. As he stalked the corridors, his claws scraping on the floor, he felt his ears twitch whenever an ornament moved or a door in the servants quarters creaked on its hinge. Nothing was amiss, just like every other night. As he mounted another flight of stairs he became aware that there were more candles burning to keep the hallway alight.

There was no light coming from underneath the Drawing Room door.

Regardless, he stood on his mind legs, reaching his full height, and pushed the door open with his large hand. The room beyond was dark, only the dullest of red embers struggled to remain aglow. On the long chaise that aligned with the fireplace lie a dark lump half-covered by a thick, rich blanket. Her face was turned away from him, almost pressing into the back of the chaise. Her dark tangle of hair drooped over the edge of the seat. Her breathing was steady, the only other sound in the room. He wanted to wake her, to bark at her for falling asleep in a cold room! Yet –she seemed peaceful enough.

Feeling agitated the Master settled into the armchair at the head of the chaise, claws burrowing into the thick hearthrug. There he sat and waited.

 

Conscious crept back in like the trickle of cold water.

Blinking tiredly, Belle opened her eyes to the darkness of the drawing room. She winced and moaned softly as she propped herself up on her elbows, feeling the hot weight of her hair droop over her shoulders. Yes, she’d been asleep for a long time. Even the fire had burnt itself out. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Belle felt the hairs on her arms stand up.

She wasn’t alone in this room.

True, she’d barely been entirely alone since her arrival, however this was different. She could feel the warmth radiating from the physical body. Her breath hitched in her throat as she sank back down onto the cushions, tense, the cover dragged slowly up to her chin. Her eyes were wide with fear and her stomach twisted itself into knots.

‘ _It knows I’m here_ ,’ she rationalised. ‘ _Whatever it is, it knows I’m here. There’s no use trying to hide._ ’

“H-Hello?”

Goodness she sounded so weak and silly! She was just convincing herself it was her imagination still shaking off the fog of sleep when –

“Good evening. You slept a while.”

The voice was deep, deeper than any man’s she’d ever heard. It sent shivers down her spine. Her nails dug into the cushions as she started to perspire. She willed herself not to, but was unable to control it in her weak state.

' _They can smell fear!_ '

“Y-yes,” she managed, her throat tight. “I’ve been rather tired lately.”

“The effects of magic is strenuous on someone not accustomed to it.”

“Are you?” she asked. “Have you become accustomed to it?”

“I believe so.”

They lapsed into silence. The sound of their breathing the only thing to be heard.

“I hope you accept my most sincere apologies,” Belle found herself murmuring into the darkness. Hot tears pricked at her eyes as she clutched the blanket in her fist. She felt as though her life hang on the balance of the words scrambling inside her mouth. “I hadn’t realised that you –that you –”

“That I was a monster?” he sneered, an echo of a growl in his voice.

It was on the tip of her tongue to deny the accusation, however a flicker of their first encounter flashed through her mind. “I wasn’t prepared,” she finally said in a measured tone. “It concerns me to be under the same roof as someone in your state who cannot control his temper.”

She felt the air crackled around her. Clearly she’d stepped on his toes with that accusation, however it needed to be said now. He was taking deep breaths to calm himself. She heard him crack the thick knuckles of his hands. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“Perhaps we should agree on a set of house-rules.”

“But this is a castle,” she challenged, more because she could.

The grinding of teeth.

“Very well. Castle-rules, since you will be staying within the castle and its surrounding grounds.”

Belle hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t contribute anything else to the discussion.

She was too busy thinking about how to not rile this creature up, yet at the same time ... she was restricted. At least in the town she had the freedom to go wherever she pleased. Granted with the freedom came a lot of hypocrisy and labour that took its toll on her, however now she was not only restricted in her movements, but it felt as though she was restricted in her words.

The only thing she seemed to have complete freedom in, in that moment, was the private thoughts in her mind.

She didn’t know what scared her more, the beastly creature seated close to her head, or the oppressive castle she was support to live in for the remainder of her life.

She fought every instinct she had to lean up and peer over her shoulder.

Closing her eyes against the shadows, she felt a hot tear run down her cheek. She was _not_ about to cry, not within earshot of this creature! Drawing in a deep breath, she willed herself to calm down. She wanted to go back to her room but she did not went to face this creature, whether in total darkness or not. She just couldn’t face it.

No doubt sensing her sombre mood, the Master decided to withdraw. He stood up with a flourish of his cape and moved towards the door. Belle turned her head back against the chair rest, not wanting to be facing him at all. She heard the click of the door opening –but he did not leave.

“Would you care to have breakfast with me tomorrow morning?” the deep, gravelly voice asked.

Hot fear pressed down on her. Papa had always taught her to be polite, and the Master was being courteous enough to ask her in a formal manner. It would be impolite and disrespectful to simply refuse. Swallowing thickly she whispered, “Yes … I shall dine with you.”

The words felt like a death sentence hanging around her neck.

He did not thank her as he left.

He barely made a sound.

It was only when the door clicked back into place did Belle release the breath she’d been holding. Every muscle had tensed up as soon as she’d realised she was not alone, and now she was terrified to relax. What if he was waiting for her to let her guard down? She could not stay in the drawing room all night.

Forcing her stiff, tight muscles up from the chaise cushions, she felt a sudden wave of nausea burrow down inside her. Gritting her teeth, she managed to get to her feet and, swaying slightly, she blindly made her way towards the door.

She hesitated, straining to hear beyond the silence, before opening the door and peering out into the hallway. It was dark, long shadows being cast against the stone walls by the dimly glowing torches. A shiver ran down her spine. Deep in her mind, she knew she could call Mrs. Potts or Lumiére, however she didn’t feel capable in that moment.

Slipping out into the darkness, Belle trailed her hand along the wall and tried to remember which way her bedchamber was. Her feet hushed over the thick, worn carpet. Her muscles were clenched tightly as she finally stumbled into her bedchamber. The curtains were still open, illuminating the chamber in a dull blue glow. At the very least it was easier to find her way to the bed. She was so worn-out to pay any mind to the feeling of being watched. She unfastened her spun dress and let it fall around her ankles.

In just her undergarments, she crawled up into the sheets, tugged the throw blankets up to her chin, and promptly fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and support of this story.
> 
> Side note: My boyfriend has finally finished his chemotherapy and had his first day back at work today! I am so proud of him! It's such a huge weight off my chest and mind. Hopefully I won't be writing too much angst in my stories :)


	12. Chapter XX

**_ Chapter XX _ **

 

 

The following morning Belle awoke feeling more rested and definitely lighter than when she’d gone to bed. However, memories of the previous evening rampaged to the forefront of her mind and her light-hearted mood was crushed almost instantly. She was to dine with the Master at breakfast. It turned her stomach just thinking about it.

Twisting the bed sheet in between her hands she debated on just sending a message down to the dining hall and declining the Master’s invitation.

‘ _No_ ,’ she internally sighed. ‘ _I must go down and deal with this face-to-face_.’

Drawing in a deep breathe, she pushed herself up against the pillows, the sunlight settling warmly onto her face. It made her feel a little stronger as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Madame Vendrobe awoke with a heavy shifting of her drawers and turned her ornately carved features to look down upon Belle.

“ _Bonjour_ my dear! Are you ready for your breakfast invitation with the Master?”

Belle felt a lump swell in her throat. “Not especially,” she stated wearily, hugging her arms tight against her body. “However, he was polite enough to ask. I must be polite enough to attend.”

Madame Vendrobe frowned but didn’t argue with the girl. She had made her decision and that needed to be honoured. Besides, the Master’s wrath twice in a week, let alone a month? “Is there anything particular you would like to wear?” she asked.

Belle frowned. She hadn’t thought about what to wear. “I –I’m not sure. I’d feel more comfortable in one of my own dresses, however I feel as though even my Sunday best wouldn’t be good enough.”

“So details are not especially important? Hmmm.” The wardrobe frowned, her drawers jittering as she thought. “How about practicality? As long as it keeps you warm enough and is soft on your skin, it should do you well.”

Belle smiled. “Yes, I think that would be lovely.”

To her surprise and secret delight, the dress that Madame Vendrobe completely took her breath away. It was a deep, cherry red with a white embroidered border around the skirts and collar. It laced-up at the back and the inner lining was thick and warm. She managed to brush her hair neatly and pin it back behind her ears. Papa always preferred her hair out of her eyes, he said it framed her face better. Straightening herself as much as she could in the mirror, Belle couldn’t deny that she felt as well as she had since arriving at the castle.

As she moved towards the door, preparing to leave, Madame Vendrobe called out, “Good luck, _ma Cherie_!”

 

Outside in the corridor, Mrs. Potts awaited with her small dining cart. “Bonjour my dear,” she trilled. “It’s nice to see that you’re making an effort to dine with the Master this morning.”

“I feel as though he and I have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Belle sighed as they began to walk the length of the hall. “I feel as though this could be a fresh start for us both.”

“That’s very kind of you, dear.”

“Well, Papa always tried to teach me some form of etiquette from his time in Paris and Brittany, even if it is not up to the Master’s standards.”

“He appreciates any effort made. I do know that he has a hard time adjusting to newcomers in the castle, so try to take whatever he says with a pinch of salt. He can be brusque but you just need a thick skin.”

“I assure you Mrs. Potts I have grown accustomed to not taking people at face-value,” Belle said.

They stopped just outside the dark, ornate doors of the dining room. The large, intricately carved golden handles gleamed in the dull light. It was cold to the touch as Belle eased the door open and walked inside. The sight of the dining room took her breath away; the servants must have cleaned it, for even the table shone in the light filtering in through the curtains. There were barely any dust motes in the air, and the seat cushions looked plumper than since she’d arrived. It was a very welcome comfort to her sore legs. She didn’t have too much time to appreciate the effort that had gone into waxing the entire room, for a lone figure was already sat at the head of the table.

Her breath hitched.

He was huge.

Frightfully large in both height and girth. His thick, covered arms could snap her in half with little to no pressure. The greyish hair was a fine layer over long fingers and razor sharp nails. The broad shoulders were shrouded in a fine, dark cloak that dripped down onto the floor around his ankles. Something swished in the corner of her eye –Was that a tail?

In that moment, Belle realised she hadn’t been prepared for meeting the Master as she’d once thought. She had glimpsed him in a darkened room, in the midst of his anger. Now, they were going to be meeting face-to-face.

At least, she had assumed they would. The Master was wearing some strange sort of veil over his face; it was also made of a dense, dark fabric that fell around his shoulders. It didn’t make him appear any less imposing, however. Her insides clenched as she cleared her throat.

“Good morning, sir,” she fought to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“Good morning, Arabelle.”

Mrs. Potts cleared her throat. When Belle looked around, the teapot gestured for her to take a seat. Straightened up, she asked, “May I have a seat, sir?”

“Be my guest, Arabelle.”

Belle made a move towards the nearest chair, not necessarily wanting to offend her host, yet at the same time not feeling too comfortable with sitting right beside him. The creature, however, had other ideas.

“Not that seat, Arabelle. I would prefer to have you seated on my right.”

Her fingers stiffened on the back of the chair. The cool, carved wood was smooth to the touch. She tried to quieten the trembling in her chest before inclining her head, “Of course, sir.”

She kept her eyes downcast as she walked toward the chair he had indicated. Her breathing felt strained as her feet glided stiffly over the polished floorboards. Every ornament in the room seemed to be holding their breath, watching their interaction. Belle did not wish to cause any more drama, unnecessarily, so she drew her chair out and sat herself down onto his plump cushion. Neither of them spoke as they waited for their breakfast to be served to them. It was still an act that Belle found herself very uncomfortable accepting, however she held her tongue this morning.

Once the trolley’s had been wheeled away, Belle picked up a spoon to eat her porridge so that she had a better distraction. “Do forgive my impertinence, sir, but why are you wearing the veil?”

“I did not wish to make you uncomfortable to dine with me, Arabelle. Our last face-to-face encounter left a lot to be desired about my character. It was … Mrs. Potts suggestion that perhaps we … start anew.”

Belle drew in a deep breath and continued to eat. As much as she admired Mrs. Potts for being able to withstand this creature’s temper, she didn’t see how she could spend any extended period of time with him. Not after the way she’d seen him, how he’d nearly attacked her. She still had nightmares about those teeth and claws coming for her in the dead of night.

“Arabelle?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Are you unwell?”

Glancing down at her porridge, she shook her head. “N-no sir. I’m just unsure how to feel at present. This is all new to me.”

“Perhaps it would be less daunting for us to divulge information about ourselves?”

Belle pursed her lips and gave a curt nod. “Of course.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

“Surely you have all the information you could ever want of me,” she replied, almost crossly. “I was selected to be here, after-all. There must have been a reason.”

“A reason I did not know, nor care to know,” the creature stated, a growl edging his words. There was a tension in the air, settling around their shoulders. “Please, enlighten me. What made Bertrand and the others admire you so much?”

Belle bristled. She tightened a fist in the folds of her dress, her heart hammering away inside her. “For the life of me, I don’t know, sir. I was simply myself.”

The creature appeared to scoff in disbelief at her modesty. Her eyes darted up to him. Through his veil he could see a burning defiance within them. It piqued his interest. “Perhaps you are not as dim-witted as the other maidens appeared to be,” he stated, taking a sip from his goblet. “Tell me, what are you hobbies?”

“Nothing that you’d approve of, I’m sure.”

“You may be surprised.”

She regarded the hulking figure before her, before nodding. “Before Papa got sick, I liked to spend a lot of my time reading. We used to build things, Papa and I, which I truly enjoyed. I’ve tried my hand at many skills and have found to excel in most. There’s not much I cannot do.”

“How is that you are not married nor betrothed?” the creature asked.

Her spoon stopped cold, halfway to her mouth. She suddenly didn’t wish to eat any more. Setting the spoon down, she delicately wiped at her mouth with the napkin. “I was not desirable to be married, sir. They saw me as neither worthy of their time nor … nor attractive for a bed-mate.” Pushing herself up from her chair, she clutched at the table without seeing it. She could see nothing through the tears. Trying to clear her throat, she bowed her head at the veiled creature. “Forgive me, I must take my leave.”

She didn’t even wait for permission before she hurried from the room.

 

 

 

As soon as the door slammed shut, the Beast tore the veil off his head and threw it into his dish. He growled loudly, the sound echoing around the room. He had done his best, he had tried to be appeasing toward her and this was the thanks he got?! He tossed his chair aside, ignoring how the wood dented and a brass stud popped off and rolled under the table. He prowled back and forth on all fours, his claws scraping into the floorboards.

“Master, what has happened?” Lumiére asked, clinking his way into the room. “I just saw the young girl running to her room.”

“I somehow appear to have insulted the urchin without breathing a word!” he thundered.

The waxy face frowned from his vantage point on the dining table. “Forgive me, Master, but that doesn’t not seem to be possible! The girl is timid at best. You need to be delicate.”

The Master seethed, his fangs barred. “Is it my fault that she ran away as though her skirts were on fire?”

It took a few moments before the Master ceased his passing. He hunched in on himself, his tail flickering in an agitated manner. He dragged sharp claws over his face and growled low in his throat. He was tense, his ears lying flat against his head. “Perhaps I said something that did offend her,” he groused.

At that moment, Mrs. Potts returned with a sombre look on her china face. “I’ve told the poor thing to have a walk in the grounds and get some fresh air. She’s out of sorts. What did you say to her, Master?”

“I said nothing!”

“We were just discussing it when you returned,” Lumiére said gently. “It appears the Master may have had slip of the tongue, so to speak.”

Mrs. Potts pursed her lips for a moment, and then sighed. “Perhaps she’ll have calmed down by dinner. Shall we clear the dining room, Master?”

Rising to his full height, the Master waved a dismissive paw at the table and growled. “Burn the lot, for all I care! It was a stupid idea anyway.”

He stalked out of the room, the doors banging against the walls as he stormed out. Lumiére and Mrs. Potts shared a look before sighing in exhaustion. There was only so much they could do to placate either one of them. Both were as stubborn and fearful as the other, though they showed it in different ways.

“I fear we may need a miracle, Madame,” the candelabra murmured.

“I’m afraid you may be right.”

 

 

 

 

~0~

 

 

 

 

The Master had demanded to be left to his own devices later that night.

He’d paced back and forth in his chambers, replaying the ordeal at breakfast over and over in his head. He could not find fault in himself, which he begrudgingly had to admit, was a first. No, the fault was entirely on the girls head. The resolution he felt in that fact only ever lasted a second, before it was replaced with a duller, heavier emotion he was never able to name.

This unsettling notion had meant he couldn’t go about his day as he usually would have, namely hunting in the forest the encroached upon his estate. The wildlife was never any match for him and he was able to keep the castle kitchens stocked with a wild board or two. Hunting pheasants would have to wait until a little later in the year, which was a frustration to him. He did enjoy the art of the hunt, regardless of whatever form he was in.

Alas, the hunting would have to wait. So, he had stalked around in his bedchamber for the majority of the day, going out once in the afternoon to patrol the gardens and along the castle walls. It wasn’t as though anything had changed since he’d last done it, however if he didn’t burn off any of his aggressive energy, any encounter he was to have with anyone would end in a roaring match.

He didn’t have the mental willpower to deal with that fallout. Not today.

Every hour or so he had asked his mirror to show him the girl.

Nothing had changed; she had been reading by the fireside in her night attire, and had since moved herself to the bed. Other than stopping with the reading for brief moments to play with her hair, and gaze forlornly across the empty room, nothing else had changed.

The hairs bristled over his body.

Glaring over his shoulder at the rose, he saw that the air around it crackled with an electrical charge, like fire and lightning fornicated within the glass jar.

An itching sensation started up under his fingernails. He tried to scratch it away, to no avail. Then the itching spread up over his forearms, burrowing deep into every fibre of his being. It set his fangs on edge as he scratched all over, harder and harder until he hissed with the sting of broken skin.

Still, it would not abate.

Snarling, he rubbed himself up against anything with a sharp edge, even dragging his body along the rough flagstones did nothing to curb the irritating sensation. It was though it got worse. It was like thousands of insects crawled under his skin. Panting, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and saliva drooling down his front, the Master threw the balcony doors open for some cool, crisp air to soothe his broken, bleeding skin. The blood had matted into his fur and some even got in his eyes, making them sore.

Somewhere deep in the castle, a clock chimed the hour.

He howled as his knees buckled underneath him.

He tried to get back up, steadying himself on the balcony ledge, when his back cracked, sending another howl into the air.

It was like his skeleton was breaking.

Panting heavily, the Master tried to stand up long enough to lean over the ledge; his lungs ached and everything stung. Something niggled at the back of his mind as the clock continued to chime dully in his ears.

That’s when it fell into place.

It had been exactly one month since the rose had wilted, since a petal had fallen away. His stomach cramped and twisted violently, sending bile racing up his throat. He vomited down over the balcony, sweat rushing out of his pores. He bristled as a cold wind rushed over his sweaty body. It made his insides convulse. Dragging his useless feet over the stone, the Master tried to make his way to the remnants of his bed. The petal was due to fall any minute now. He needed to get comfortable for what was to come.

A growl resounded throughout the chamber as his spine was pulled tight, as though he were being stretching on a rack.

His knees gave way before he reached his bed.

His face smacked down hard against the stone. A fang caught on a raised stone and chipped off, forcing another growl of pain. Ears pressed flat to his head, the Master opened bleary eyes and tried to call out for someone.

“Mrs. Potts …” he rasped, his throat dry and burning.

His eyelids grew heavy and his upper body sagged back into the floor as the clocks final chime resounded throughout the castle.

The Master’s eyes rolled back in his head and he finally gave-in to the power that drained the energy from his veins.

On the table top, a single rose petal fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that you had to wait over a month for this update, however if you've seen any of my A/N's on my other stories, just know that my health hasn't been up to scratch lately. I hope you like this update regardless, and try to bear with me for further updates :3 x


	13. Chapter XI

**_ Chapter XI _ **

 

 

 

A knocking came at the door.

Stirring awake in her bed, Belle frowned about the room. The sky was barely lightening beyond the curtains, however the knocking kept going, growing more insistent by the second. Pulling on her velvet robe, Belle stumbled blindly towards the door and tugged on the cool, gold handle. She drew in a deep breath, trying to clear her mind as she looked through the gloom at Mrs. Potts’ anxious face.

“Whatever is the matter, Mrs. Potts?” Belle asked, trying her best to suppress a yawn.

“It’s the Master, miss. He’s taken ill. We were hoping you would keep him company whilst we tend to him?”

Belle frowned, her tired brain not entirely following the logic of the conversation. “Does the Master really wish to have me at his bedside whilst he’s ill, or is this a request off your own back?” She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, however the breakfast the previous morning was still ingrained in her mind.

The silence was answer enough.

Yet, Belle didn’t feel right just returning to bed, knowing that the Master was in the throes of an illness. Really, it wouldn’t be too much trouble for her to fall asleep in a chair at his bedside, as it was to fall asleep in her bed. Tightening the ties of her robe, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and nodded.

“Very well,” she murmured. “Let’s see what’s happened to him.”

Truthfully, she was quite curious. As they padded their way along the plush carpet towards the main entrance, Belle couldn’t deny that she wanted to know what had happened to the Master. He’d seemed his usual, arrogant self at breakfast only yesterday. Whatever could have befallen him in such short a time to worry his staff? Not only that, but what if it was contagious? Perhaps it would affect Belle differently to the rest of the servants?

It was only when they came face-to-face with the doors that led into the Western Wing that Belle forced herself to stop. The hairs all over her body prickled to attention. It was as though the air around her was crackling slightly, almost like an electrical current was passing through the castle.

“What is it, dear?” Mrs. Potts asked.

“I –I won’t get ill, will I?” Belle asked, her hand trembling on the doorknob.

“I shouldn’t think so, dear. You’re not cursed, as we are.”

Somehow the thought did little to quell the fear inside her stomach. Muscles tensing against the cold, Belle forced the door open. It groaned long and low into the dimness of the chamber beyond. The flagstones were cold underfoot. In the distance corner of the room, beside the mangled remnants of the bed, a low fire crackled lethargically in its grate. It did very little to warm the room. A shiver ran through her. She hugged her robe tighter about her body and inched into the room. The tea trolley rattled timidly behind her –if such a thing could be considered timid at all.

“Where is he?” Belle breathed, barely daring herself to raise her voice.

“He’s in the bed,” Mrs. Potts stated, her voice low. “He’s been tossing and turning since we got him in there.”

Belle momentarily wondered how china ornaments managed such a feat, but kept her questions to herself. Straining her eyes through the gloom, she noted that there was a large, dark mass in the nest of shredded blankets. If she listened, she could hear his laboured breathing. A low, guttural grunt rumbled through the darkness. Belle flinched.

“Master?” Lumiére murmured, bending low from his position on a nearby table. “Mrs. Potts had brought the young girl to see you.”

A snarl. It struck Belle like a whip.

“Get her away from me!” he sneered, his breathing rough and wheezing. “I don’t need her pity –nor –nor her peasant ways!”

Whatever was said next was lost on Belle, as she stared at the hulking mass of a creature, writhing and hyperventilating in his distress. Yet, somehow the Master still found enough breath in his body in order to sling a slur her way. No one else seemed to notice, too busy trying to ensure that the Master did not get out of his bed and try to walk. That wasn’t what he’d have done, had he been able to walk. No, Belle strongly assumed he would have grabbed her by her collar and thrown her out of his bedchamber as though she were a rat.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“You don’t need to worry about me and my ways,” she stated as clearly as she could, trying as calmly as possible to be heard over the creatures groaning and grumbling. “I’ll delight in leaving you in your misery. Good day.”

She brushed back out of the room, not even bothering to wait for Mrs. Potts or one of the other servants to escort her back to her chamber. She knew the way herself.

The door had barely shut behind her before something smashed against it. Her heart jumped in her throat. She hoped that whatever had been smashed, hadn’t been a person in its previous life.

Regardless, there was nothing to be done now.

Feeling cold, small and empty, Belle hugged her arms tightly around herself before hurrying through the yawning darkness towards her bedchamber. She forced the door shut behind her, crawling into bed and pulled the covers high over her head. It was only then, away from prying eyes, that she allowed the tears to cascade down her cheeks.

The last person she had tended to when they’d been ill, had been her Papa. She hadn’t realised until that moment just how lost and helpless she felt without him there to guide her. She wept into the pillow, hugging the duvet around her and curling into a tight ball.

“Oh, Papa!” she choked, “I wish I could be with you now.”

 

 

 

 

 

~0~

 

 

 

 

Even though Belle had rarely seen the Master when she had been allowed to wonder around the castle of her own accord, the following morning felt different. It was as if the entire castle and those therein were struck by the Master’s ill-health. A part of her wanted to dismiss it, however another part of her mind was intrigued to see what happened next. The castle was like a ship without its captain, sailing through an unknown terrain with no one there to guide it safely home.

She’d also noticed, at breakfast, that the cutlery and crockery seemed to move slower than usual. Everything was more rigid, stiff, as though they had only come to terms with how much it would ache for a chair to shrug or cross its arms.

It was very strange indeed.

For the rest of the day, Belle didn’t see any of the ornaments she’s been formally acquainted with. It was strange to think that she missed speaking with a teapot, however Mrs. Potts had made her feel so welcomed and calm in the midst of her arrival at the castle. For a brief moment, she considered going up to the Western Wing to see if any help was needed, but she quickly dismissed the idea. She didn’t need to be yelled at again.

Instead, she took herself to the library, tucked a few books on mechanics under her arm and went down into the kitchen via the servants steps. It was warm and stuffy in the kitchen, but it made her smile as she sat down at one of the wooden tables and spread the books out before her. She chatted amicably with the oven, sometimes explaining about the things she was reading, and perhaps thinking of gadgets she might be able to build at the castle, now that she had the time.

It was calming and pleasant. Being in the kitchen also meant she barely had to look up from her book as lunch was served to her.

 

 

By the time evening slid like a blanket over the castle, Belle was just clearing up the table from where she’d disassembled an old music box to use some of the smaller gears, when Mrs. Potts wheeled her trolley down into the kitchen. Belle looked up, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and frowning. She’d never thought that a teapot could look aged, however she was sure she could see smudging and faint, hairline cracks around the painted eyes. Her insides twisted.

“Mrs. Potts are you alright?” she asked, straightening up and wiping her hands down on the apron she’d tied at her waist.

The teapot startled, not realising that Belle had been there. “Oh yes dear,” she sighed. “It’s just been a tiring day, that’s all.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“No, dear, there’s nothing you can do to help.” She let out another sigh. “It just gets worse and worse, every time the curse gets a little stronger. It weakens us, but the Master takes the brunt of it all.”

Belle furrowed her brow and went over to the sink. Twisting the large, copper taps she let the water run warm and then soaked a dishrag underneath it. Ringing it out, she went back over to Mrs. Potts and gently draped the rag over her cool china body. The teapot shivered, her lid twinkling softly.

“Oh that does feel good,” she hummed, more to herself than to Belle. “Thank you, dear.”

Belle gave a sympathetic smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ears. Taking a seat on the worn, wooden bench, Belle folded her hands in her lap and leaned in to better converse with the teapot. “Is there nothing you can tell me, Mrs. Potts?” she urged gently. “The Master hasn’t taken ill at all, and now suddenly it’s as though the entire castle has quaked in its foundations.”

Mrs. Potts sighed, her little round body slumping. “It’s the curse, dear. Every so often, it strengthens its hold on us. Weakens us. Turns us even more into the object we have become.”

Understanding clicked in Belle’s mind. A growing dread made her stomach clench tightly. “Does that mean that the Master is digressing more into an animal?” she asked, a tremor caught in her voice.

“Yes …”

The knowledge of such a turn of events was distressing to Belle. While it was true, she and the Master had barely been able to see eye-to-eye upon her arrival at the castle, it didn’t mean she wished for him to be incapacitated. Rubbing idly at her chest, she cleared her throat and straightened up on the bench.

“Is there nothing I can do to help at all?” Belle asked, quietly.

Mrs. Potts shook her body, her lilac lid tinkling lightly. “No, dear, it’s kind of you to offer, though.”

Pressing her lips together, Belle decided to take a cold supper up to her room. She truly didn’t wish to intrude and Mrs. Potts seemed like she could use some quiet time on her own, before ensuring the rest of the castle was running smoothly before turning in for the night.

 

 

 

The following morning, Belle awoke with renewed energy. It was the first time since she’d arrived at the castle filled with a sense of purpose. Yesterday, in the kitchen, she had been sketching out plans to create a small machine that would help to cut the washing of assorted clothes, in half. She had disassembled numerous items in order to get the gears and cogs she’d required, and today she was finally going to be able to start. The tools she required were located in the stables and sheds out of doors. Belle had flown through breakfast and then flung a thick, fur-lined cloak around her shoulders, tugged the hood up and then went into the cool air. Building was a welcome distraction; it kept her mind focused on the task at hand as she toiled for hours, testing the variations in which the pieces could fit together. Whenever it didn’t work, she frowned and sighed in frustration and kicked at the cold, cobblestone floor. She’d stand, hands on hips and glaring down at the contraption before counting to ten in her head.

When she opened her eyes again, she set to work with a new burst of energy.

By the time she returned to the brutal warmth of the kitchen, her homespun dress was covered in grease and there were dark stains littering her pale forearms. She heaved a great sigh as she slumped done onto the wooden bench and unfurled the cloak from her shoulders. Her hair fell out of its braid and curled around her ears and forehead. Swiping the sweat from her brow, Belle went and bent over the washbasin, soaking her arms in the soapy water and then drying them on a towel that had been warming on the oven door. She was just contemplating on what to have for lunch, when the familiar sound of the tea-trolley twinkled into the kitchen.

“Good afternoon Mrs. Potts,” Belle smiled. She swept her hair out of her eyes and settled back onto the wooden bench, planting her elbows on the table like she’d seen the boy’s at Sunday school do. “How are things this today?”

Mrs. Potts gave her a tired smile. “Not much better, I’m afraid. It’s taken its toll on all of us.”

Belle frowned, “I can’t imagine that caring for the Master above yourself is particularly helpful to your well-being, either.”

“That’s the life of a servant, dear. We just have to carry on with things, regardless of our own ailments.”

Belle pushed herself out from the table. She barely paid attention to the crockery getting ready to take a late lunch of broth and crusty bread to the Master. She went to Mrs. Potts and gently lifted the teapot onto the kitchen table. “Now, Mrs. Potts, you take a few moments to rest yourself. I shall take the lunch to the Master.”

“Oh goodness! He’ll be ever so callous if he’s seen in such a state!”

Belle adopted a placating smile and bent so that she was eye-level with the teapot. “I believe I can handle his bad temper better than before, Mrs. Potts. Now, take a rest. I’ll no doubt be back shortly.”

She left no room for argument. As she placed the laden tray onto the tea trolley, she silently prided herself for putting her foot down. Since arriving at the castle, she’d felt as though people wanted to coddle her and make sure she didn’t so much as get a paper cut. She needed to be more assertive; taking lunch to the Master was a step in the right direction –at least she hoped it was.

Getting the tea trolley to the Western wing was no easy feat, but somehow she’d made it. The bowl of soup was still warm so, once she’d forced the doors open and wheeled the trolley inside, she felt fairly proud of herself. The heavy atmosphere in the room struck a chord in her. It seemed to suck the air out of her lungs. Despite the fire, the bedchamber felt cold. Belle was almost sure she’d see her breath rising in the air, any moment.

“Master?” she called softly, easing the trolley towards the battered bed. “Master, I’ve brought something for you to eat.”

If he’d heard her, he didn’t acknowledge her in any way.

Belle mentally steeled herself and rolled the trolley right to the bedside and crouched down by the hearth to make sure that there was enough firewood in the grate. Taking a candelabra from the mantelpiece, she struck a match and lit the five candles, feeling a little less claustrophobic as the golden glow illuminated more of the room. Not that it improved the scene by any means, however the various glimmers of gold and iron made her feel a little better.

Setting the candelabra on a battered chest beside the bed, Belle made sure to stand three feet away. “Master?” she called louder, her voice ringing out against the stone. Her heart felt like it was being struck by lightning every time her voice rebounded in her own ears. “Master, it’s time to wake up now.”

A low, rumbling growl came from the bed.

Belle tensed, her hands tightening around the trolley rail. Swallowing the lump in her throat she tried again. “Master, please, if you are ill you need to have something to eat.”

She watched as the dark hulking figure under the bedclothes stirred, the growling ever present as the creature turned to face her, his deep eyes glowering from under his prominent brow. “Why did you come here?” he rasped out in the deep guttural growl. It made her insides cold. Belle didn’t get a chance to open her mouth before the Beast continued. “You come to laugh at how I’ve been struck down, gave you?” he snarled. His claws curled over the edge of the bed, splintering the wood.

Belle backed away, the back of her legs burning with the sudden heat from the fire.

“I don’t need you or your pathetic little peasant ideologies on how to cure something that cannot be cured!” His paw shot out from the covers. Belle yelped in fear, but he had not been reaching for her. He’d grabbed hold of the plates on the trolley and threw them into the fireplace, soup splashing all over the flagstones. Belle watched in horror as the plate sharps twitched on the stone, then ceased to move at all.

Had that plate … been a person?

She clenched her eyes shut, daring not to think on it. He’d turn on her now, it was certain.

Her turn never arrived; with heavy, rasping breaths, the Master wilted, exerted from his sudden outburst, and collapsed heavily onto the splintered remnants of his four-poster bed. The canopy quaked on impact, but didn’t fall. Belle forced her eyes open; she was trembling from head to toe, her body was flushed and cold at the same time and she’d nearly scorched her skirts on the hearth. Looking down at the Master lying prone on his bed, she noted that, even in the firelight, she saw sweat dampening his fur, making it stick together like shards of amber.

Kneeling down, she extended a quivering hand and brushed some of the damp fur at his brow. He flinched, a snarl dragging out through his clenched teeth. There didn’t seem to be any real heat to it, however. Feeling a fraction braver, Belle continued to comb her shaky fingers through the damp hair, firmer and firmer until she felt the taut muscles underneath. Somehow, feeling the power of the creature beneath her was both assurance that she was not mad, and terrifying. Her heart was in her throat, beating wildly, as she continued to stroke the Master’s hair.

Adopting a quieter voice that sounded a lot calmer than she felt, she whispered, “Would you like me to go and bring you another bowl of soup?”

A low grumble.

“And you will eat it this time, instead of throwing it?”

Another grumble.

“Very well. I shan’t be long.”

Rising on unsteady legs, Belle grasped the rail of the tea trolley and forced her feet to guide her to the door. The wheels creaked a little as she moved, but she barely heard anything over the drumming of her heart.

Thankfully, the kitchen was empty when she got there, meaning that she didn’t need to make idle chatter with any of the household staff. She simply retrieved a new bowl from the china cabinet, filled it with broth that was still simmering on the stove and arranged the tray as had been done before. Once done, she placed everything on the tea trolley and made her way back up towards the Western Wing.

In the time she had been gone, some of the servants must have intervened enough to get the Master sitting up on a small mound of pillows. He did not look entirely comfortable with his horns grinding constantly on the headboard, however he didn’t seem to have the energy to complain. Belle took this as a good sign as she wheeled the trolley to his bedside.

“Do you think you will be able to hold the bowl, or would you like me to do it for you?” she asked.

Piercing eyes scrutinised her. It left her feeling naked and vulnerable; no one had ever looked at her in that manner before.

“Very well,” she bowed her head, averting her eyes towards the bowl and spoon. “I suppose I shall have to do it myself.”

She splayed a linen napkin over his heaving chest, the muscles beneath the fur as hard as stone, before she filled the spoon with broth, blew on it a little and then held it out for the Master to eat. His eyes flitted between her face and the spoon. His lips twisted into a snarl. Belle swallowed, trying her best to remain calm.

“You can very well eat or starve, it makes no difference to me.” His eyes narrowed at her. “I have nowhere else to be. I shall stay here all night and feed you cold broth, if that’s what it will take in order to get you to eat something.”

Another heavy silence befell them, only disturbed by the soft crackling of the fire. Belle’s hand trembled a little as she tried to keep the spoon aloft. Whether he took pity on her or not, the Master allowed his jaw to slacken, leaving enough space between his fangs for her to slip the spoon inside.

That is how the following hour progressed. The Master refused to look at her throughout the entire ordeal. As soon as the bowl was empty, Belle decided that they had both been humiliated enough. She tidied everything away onto the tray and then noticed that the napkin was still splayed over the Master’s broad chest, although now it was stained with broth. With a frown, Belle reached over to take the napkin. A large, sweaty paw sprang down on her hand. She yelped, her arm buckling under the sudden pressure. Half-kneeling on the bed, she felt paralysed at how close she was to the Master. She could feel his hot breath rushing over her skin. The hairs all over her body stood up on end as his piercing gaze surveyed her, up close, for the first time.

Belle didn’t dare move, didn’t even dare to blink, as she waited and prayed for the Master to release her hand.

Finally, he sneered and released her hand with a disdainful air. Perhaps he didn’t like to be tended to in such a manner. Had she wounded his pride after all?

‘ _At least now we shall be equals_ ,’ she thought lightly.

“I shall see you tomorrow, Master,” she stated over her shoulder, as she pushed the tea trolley towards the main doors of the bedchamber. If he grumbled a reply, she couldn’t discern the words. They were not her concern, not just yet.

As she made her way towards the kitchens, Belle decided that she was going to help take care of the Master. She didn’t like seeing anyone suffering, not ever since her Papa had fallen ill last winter. It took a greatly unlikable character for her to turn her back on the suffering, be them man or beast.

‘ _Does that mean that I do not object to the Master as much as I’d once thought?_ ’ Belle thought, as she was undressing for bed later that evening.

The thought caught her off-guard, immediately clashing with her experiences only an hour ago. Her heart was still recovering from one too many frights. She was not thinking clearly. She didn’t even have the mental energy to sit down and enjoy one of her books from the library. With a resolute sigh, Belle decided that she needed to go straight to sleep. The following few days were going to be one of the biggest trials she’d faced in recent months, and she wished to be as prepared as any woman could be for whatever awaited her in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long update! I had so much stress dealing with comic con, my birthday and then a friends birthday that I've struggled to finish this chapter! I promise not to leave you waiting this long again x


	14. Chapter XXII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I hope you guys like this chapter! We get a lot more from the Master's POV

_ **Chapter XII** _

 

 

 

The following morning, Belle awoke with the dawn. She had a renewed burst of energy surging through her veins as she wove her dark hair into an intricate knot at the back of her head, and dressed in a cream velvet dress with tiny black buttons fastening all the way up her throat. The cuffs were a fraction too short, but that wasn't to be a problem for her today.

Hurrying down to the kitchens, the servants were only just waking up and clinking along the counters as she pushed the heavy oak door open. A few of them startled at having her there, however they soon returned to their morning routines. Belle didn't even stop to eat a small meal for herself, she simply set straight to work. Gathering the bowl and ingredients from where she'd seen them stacked away in the kitchen, she set up a little work station at the kitchen table and set to work making some dough.

It took her about an hour before she'd made most of what she'd planned whilst dozing the prior evening; she'd made thick, crusty rolls, small spongy ones, a couple of pie crusts and a warm loaf of bread to be eaten throughout the day in the guise of sandwiches or toast. She had no idea how much a creature of his magnitude ate in order to function throughout the day. Shifting the goods onto a tray, she allowed the utensils to guide it into one of the large, stone ovens. A flame sparked and ignited all on its own. With a relieved sigh, Belle sank down onto the wooden bench and dabbed at her rosy cheeks with a cloth.

She didn't stop there, however. As soon as she regained the feeling in her arms, Belle was back on her feet and pottering around the kitchen, making up a plate of porridge, boiled some eggs and was grateful for Mrs. Potts to accompany her in order to poor some tea for the Master. She quickly grabbed a jar of thick, golden honey as they were leaving the kitchen. It always helped warm her Papa up when he had a head-cold or anything else in his body ached.

Once the tray was loaded, she peered into a small square of mirrored glass and adjust her hair, delicately wiping at a smudge of flour on her cheek, before walking alongside Mrs. Potts as the trolley carted itself out of the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

It was a particularly bright day as they walked along the hallways of the castle; brilliant beams of sunlight pierced through the gloom and the heavy velvet curtains. Belle was able to get a much better impression of the carved gargoyles on the sconces, and the intricate dragons woven around the banisters.

"This must have been a wonderful place to work in all those years ago," she found herself saying as she slowed in her steps to gaze up at a painting almost as tall as her cottage.

"It was remarkably different my dear," Mrs. Potts stated with a smile. "You wouldn't recognise it as the same place, if you'd seen what it was like before."

"I still think there's beauty in the details," Belle continued. "It may not be what I'm used to finding beautiful, but the work that has gone into all the unique carvings and sculptures must truly be admired."

"It's kind of you to say, dear. The Master despises what this place has become. It only gets worse as time wears on."

"In what manner?"

"I feel as though sometimes the stone creatures are about to move, almost as though I can see their eyes shift or their claws twitch."

"Perhaps it's just the light playing tricks on you?" Belle hummed thoughtfully. "That's what my Papa said whenever I had terrible dreams and thought I saw a monster in the shadows."

Mrs. Potts looked up at the young girl walking beside her, the light causing shadows to dance over her skin. At no point did she look like something from a bad dream. The teapot smiled and shook her head, "That's not always the case, dear."

At last, they reached the Master's bedchamber.

"Will you go in with me?" Belle asked, trying to keep her voice light.

"I won't just now, my dear," the teapot said. "I need to observe in the kitchen. It's my turn today. However, I shall be back in the afternoon to bring you a spot of lunch and some tea."

Belle forced a smile as she took the trolley handles in her hand, "Very well. Thank you for keeping me company, Mrs. Potts."

Hopping down, the house-servant nodded her little round body. "Just give me a call if you need anything, dear!" she chimed as she hopped off towards the staircase.

Facing the door, Belle drew in a deep breath and pushed the trolley inside.

The bedchamber hadn't changed from the previous evening, however the stuffy air was heavy with the smell of sweaty and wet fur. She wrinkled her nose a little as she moved her way to the Master's bedside. He was awake; his small, blue eyes shining like cold china in the pale light filtering in through the ragged curtains.

"Why are you here?" the gravelly voice startled her, sending every hair on her body to stand on end. Belle froze as she bent over the trolley of food, but reanimated whilst brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Mrs. Potts said you were ill. I thought I'd make you some breakfast," she said simply.

Growling low in his throat, the Beast moved around in his shreds of blanket. Belle flinched upright, bracing herself to move as swiftly as possible. However, the Master simply glowered at her as he collapsed back onto the pillows, his broad chest heavy with the wet, shining fur. He was sweating. As she drew closer, the smell was almost cloying and she was sure she could see steam pluming from his flanks.

With a frown, Belle stood up and scanned the nearest bureau to see if there was anything that could help. Through the gloom she saw a pitcher of day-old water that was relatively cool, and a small pile of washcloths. Bringing them over to the Master's bedside table, she soaked one of the washcloths and raised it towards his head. He flinched as the cloth brushed his fur, snarling at her, his thin dark lips pulled back over his sharp fangs.

Belle held her ground, swallowing past the lump in her throat. He was weak, she could work with that.

"If you don't want to get better, by all means treat me how you have been," she said carefully. "However, I cannot stand by and watch you suffer. I'm going to look after you, regardless of what you think."

"I can make life unbearable for you," he sneered.

Belle almost laughed. "More unbearable than it already has been?" she challenged with an arched eyebrow. A thrill of giddiness shot through her. Why did she take such delight in being on level ground with such a fearsome creature?

Apparently, the Master had no comeback for her, so simply hunched his shoulders and fixed his steely gaze elsewhere.

Belle took that as a good sign, and started to dab the cool cloth over the sweaty fur. The Master flinched under her touch, but made no further objections to her tentative touch.

She did her best to dab cool water over as much of the creature as she could, before the water was so clotted with loose fur that she had to give in. Setting the bowl aside, she drew the trolley closer and turned to the Master.

"Are you able to eat by yourself?"

He didn't reply.

"I can feed it to you," she offered.

"I don't need your pity!" he snarled loudly.

She flinched, unable to control the impulse. Clenching her jaw she set the bowl back onto the trolley, but didn't push it away. "Very well," she said, standing up and brushing loose fur from her dress. "I'll leave the food for you. I'll be back later this afternoon to see how you are."

Leaving no room for argument, Belle marched out of the bedchamber, her heels echoing in her wake. Only when the door shut firmly behind her, did the reality of her situation cause her knees to buckle. Bracing herself back against the door, she drew in deep breaths, trying to calm the spike of adrenaline rushing through her heart.

 

 

 

 

~0~

 

 

 

 

He awoke to darkness. There was a chill in the air that agitated his hot, heavy muscles, but he was barely able to move his head or shift his body over the damp sheets.

The trolley of food was still there, cold and untouched. He must have fallen asleep right after the girl had left. Had she come back in the afternoon as promised? If so, why hadn't she taken the tray with her? He shifted uncomfortably on the mangled bed, ignoring the heaviness in his chest at the thought that he'd been left to sleep all day.

A light flickered through the darkness.

A candle sparked to life, the wick hissing as it caught on fire.

Squinting through the haze of sleep, he watched as the girl shifted about, manually lighting matches. Around her shoulders she wore a thick, woollen shawl that looked rather shabby. Perhaps it was hers from home? Once enough candles were lit near the armchair that had appeared at his bedside, she sighed softly and brushed the frazzled strands out of her eyes. Picking up the book that had been on the seat, she settled down and pulled her feet up underneath her.

At some point, he awoke to an empty bedchamber, the dying embers hissing in the grate whilst the stone room grew colder with each passing second. He allowed a single moment of vulnerability wash over him, until he noted a small, pale face nestled on the arm of the chair near his bed. Belle was curled up like a cat, a thick, fur blanket draped over her small body, her hair spilling out of its braid, thin, black wisps curling around her forehead and cheek.

It was only on the third day of her nursing him whilst he was between fits of consciousness, did he finally have enough strength to lift his head a little and berate the girl.

"I have no use for your peasant trickery," he sneered bitterly. "I'd have been cured by now if you hadn't interfered."

"Far be it for me to see the Master die of a fever," Belle replied tartly as she finished folding a pillowcase she'd been embroidering. They held one another's gaze for a while, before the Master huffed, turning away from her bright eyes. When the girl next spoke, her tone was softer, almost comforting. "If you are feeling up for it, perhaps this afternoon we can take a walk in the gardens. To regain the use of your legs."

"My legs are perfectly fine," he groused.

"Then for my own peace of mind," she urged gently. Was she smiling? He dare not look. "It would be nice to have some company on the grounds. It has been terribly lonely here since I arrived."

That struck a chord within him.

He knew a thing or two about loneliness, there was no doubt about that.

His muscles tensed, making no further indication that he'd heard her.

"You don't have to walk with me," Belle continued. "I was working on a little project of my own, before you fell ill. I wouldn't mind getting back to it."

"Do so then!" he snapped. "I am perfectly well and have no desire to have you breathing down my neck all the livelong day."

If his words had stung her, he had no idea. He kept his back to her and the fire, and hunched his shoulders around his ears. Eventually, he heard the whisper of her skirts as she stood from the chair and walked out of the room, not even sparing him a glance before she closed the door.

He was left feeling hollow for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

 

 

By the end of the third day, the Master had regained at least half the energy he required, and was even able to drag his heavy body out of bed and slowly shuffle from one end of his bedchamber to the other without much assistance. He could feel the eyes of his servants weighing down on him, but he pressed on. The last thing he needed was to hear their encouragement or hums of disappointment whenever his clawed feet scraped across the stone floor. He could feel every muscle tremble with exertion, the damp lick of sweat beginning to build up under his fur, but still he continued to pace the floor, enjoying the shock of cold stone under his paws.

His spine started to quiver uncontrollably as he made his way back over to the mess that served as his bed. Once that started, the rest of his body followed suit until he collapsed near the foot of his bed, his jaw hitting the floor with such force that it jarred his skull.

" _Master?!"_

" _Is he alright?_ "

" _We need to get help!_ "

He wanted to roar, to tell them he didn't need help, however as he tried to shift his weight onto his forearms to haul himself up, his muscles gave-up and he hit the flagstones again.

When he came to, he was back in his bed. It was like he'd never left it.

A cool dampness across his brow startled him. Belle flinched a little as he turned his sharp eyes toward her, yet she didn't back away. She merely soaked the cloth again and swiped it across his brow. She was sat beside him, on the mattress itself, and even leaned a hand against his arm to steady herself as she reached over to dab at his face. He let out a low, shaking breath as she leaned away for a final time. She placed the bowl on the bureau, out of reach.

"How are you feeling?" Belle asked, holding a goblet up towards his lips.

He took a grateful sip, wincing as beads of water dripped into his fur. "Better," he rasped.

"Another day or two with proper rest, and you should be back to your old self," she smiled thinly.

It was not a pretty look on her.

As she turned to reach for a bowl of steaming broth, he saw a streak of grease on the underside of her jaw. There was no logical reason as to why he reached out, however as soon as the pad of his thumb stroked at her jaw, his brain ignited in flames. Belle froze at his touch, but didn't flinch away as she might have done a few weeks ago.

Perhaps she was too stunned to react?

Feeling daring for the first time, the Master reached over and cupped her jaw in his paw. As soon as he did this, he froze too. How did they move on from this contact? How was he to distance himself after his illness, if the contours of her face were ingrained into his palm as though they'd been burned there?

"You shouldn't trouble yourself with me," he finally said, slowly letting his palm fall from her face. "I haven't died yet. I'm sure this curse will ensure I live the longest life possible, riddled with suffering."

A small frown creased Belle's brow. "You haven't died yet," she echoed. "Which means there's no use in you acting as if you already have. Tomorrow morning, we're going for a walk on the grounds."

His ears pressed flat against his head in disdain at her tone, however a small voice at the back of his mind told him that he needed to give this girl a chance. He had avoided her for the better part of her stay, and he could tell that his servants were becoming disenchanted with his detached manner towards their meddling. This girl was the least annoying of the few dozen or so maidens who had come before her.

"Very well," he replied wearily. "Tomorrow, I shall accompany you."

She turned her face away, her mouth twisting as though to hide a smile. He wished he could see her smile a little more, it might transform her usually serious features. The thought startled him, forcing him to grimace and shake it from his skull.

They ate together in silence in his bedchamber and once the trolley had wheeled itself away, Belle retired to her armchair and pried the book open on her lap.

The Master lay back on his mountain of hot, rumpled pillows and tried his best to settle. However, he was very aware that there was another person present in his bedchamber. She must have gotten absorbed in her book, for she didn't pay any attention to him as he lie on his back, his head ever so slightly tilted in her direction. His heavy brow and thick fur gave the illusion that his eyes were closed, when in fact he watched her by candlelight.

Somewhere within the castle, a clock chimed for midnight.

With a weary sigh, Belle rubbed a hand down her face and closed the book. She stood up, skirts whispering around her, to place the book out of arms reach and turned her back to the bed. The flickering candles had dimmed down to a subtle glow, bathing the bedchamber in almost absolute darkness. He could still see her, though. His eyesight was the one thing he could be grateful for in his current form. Even through the dimly lit room, he could see how her dexterous fingers unfastened the small buttons that ran the length of her dress. It fell away, as did her skirts, leaving her in nothing but a thin, white chemise.

"Beast?"

He froze, as she glanced over in his direction. Blood rushed through his body as he tried to hold perfectly still. Satisfied that he was 'asleep' Belle allowed the waves of fabric to fall to the floor around her feet. The chemise barely reached to her ankles.

She settled back in the armchair, curling up within a heavy blanket.

The Master wanted to snap at her, to tell her that his bed was plenty big enough for the both of them and that she had no need to fear him. It was also much comfier than the armchair she insisted on sitting in. However, as soon as the thought entered his mind, he stiffened, a twisting in his gut making him feel ill. With a grunt, he rolled onto his other side, burrowed further into the pillows and listened to Belle's soft breathing as she finally fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

~0~

 

 

 

 

The following morning Belle was nowhere to be seen. Mrs. Potts arrived with a breakfast trolley, singing the girls' praises at how she'd spent all morning baking the bread and pastries he was eating, before informing him that Belle was going to meet him in the entrance hall before they went for their walk on the grounds.

The Master openly wondered why Belle wasn't joining him for breakfast, especially as she'd refused to leave him alone until this morning, however he reasoned that this was what he'd initially demanded of her; distance between them. Delayed as it was, she had granted his wish.

He ate automatically whilst Mrs. Potts ran through the list of rooms that were falling into disrepair at one end of the castle, most of which the Master simply shrugged away. There was nothing he could do about the state of the castle any more than he could snap his fingers and make them all human again. It was out of his control, and everyone knew it. They didn't mean they had to like it.

Once Mrs. Potts left him to his own devices, on his insistence that he could dress himself, the Master hobbled over to the table the rose floated on. He spared it a glare before snatching up the ornate hand-mirror. "Show me the girl," he growled.

He was surprised to find her in one of the old stables, her hair in disarray as she bent low over a strange, metal contraption and twisted a gear into place. He frowned at her, setting the mirror face-down on the table. She really was peculiar.

 

 

 

 

At 11 o'clock he dressed himself in a pair of threadbare trousers and draped a large black cloak around his shoulders. He didn't need much to keep the chill out, his fur did most of the work. As he slowly descended the stairs into the entrance hall, his insides did that infernal twisting when he caught sight of Belle awaiting his arrival. She was anxiously twisting a handful of her own cloak, her cheeks pink from exertion.

When she caught sight of him, the pink colour deepened as she averted her gaze and gave a delicate curtsy. "Good morning, Master," she said, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting second. "I trust you rested well?"

"I did indeed," he replied. "I think it was the manner in which my meal was made, that has shaped my mood."

"Are you feeling well enough to walk?" she asked as he reached over her shoulder and pushed the large doors open.

Despite the snow on the ground, the sun was warm through their cloaks. Belle's boots crunched underfoot, an almost pleasant sound as she hurried every so often to keep up with his strides. She was so small, barely tall enough to reach his shoulder. They walked along a snow-covered path that wove around the exterior of the castle. As soon as they reached the garden, where numerous parties had been held in his youth, Belle gasped in amazement. True, she was only seeing what the enchantment allowed her to see, however even he had to admit that the grandeur of the what occupied the space was still breath-taking; there was a large pond with an iced-over stone sculpture in the centre, stone dragons with gaping mouths that once spat water, large hedges that formed an elaborate maze with another fountain at its centre. There was also a bridge that crossed over a river which fed into the lake beyond, and a rose garden overlooked by a beautiful trellis that housed a cosy seating area.

He had forgotten just how wonderful it was to be in the garden, his mother's pride and joy.

His heart sank a little as he watched Belle walk along the bridge, her mouth agape as she drank in the snow-covered finery. She ran her small fingers along the stonework, brushed glittering snow off the roses that still seemed table to bloom, despite the permanent winter.

"Oh, Master! This is so beautiful!" she beamed brightly, her face flushed with excitement. He walked over the bridge and met her at the edge of the rose garden. "Why didn't you show me this place before?"

Her voice was quiet, openly curious, and he found he didn't have the words to reply.

"I imagine this would be a remarkable place to sit and read on a summer's day," Belle continued dreamily.

"You're welcome to read out here if you wish," he said, his throat thick. "Just … Don't get any of them wet."

Belle smiled and shook her head, "I couldn't possibly read out here! It's too beautiful! I wouldn't have the heart to ignore all of this."

They walked along through the roses, inching closer towards the curved wooden bench under the trellis. "What is it your village does when they encounter something like this?" he asked.

Belle shook her head, "I don't think anyone ever has, not really."

"What would the young people do in regards to the winter months for entertainment?"

"Oh, everything!" Belle chimed. "There would be winter fairs in the town square, ice skating on the ponds and rivers when they froze over, and almost always there would be a snow-ball fight in the meadows." She smiled wistfully, "I didn't have a lot of time for that since Papa got ill."

"How so?"

"I spent all my time working and making sure he was well-looked after. I barely had the energy to read a book let alone go back out into a snowstorm and throw ice at other people."

"Maybe one of these days, we could try ice-skating on one of the ponds in the gardens."

Belle turned to face him. "Really?" He nodded. "Have you ever done it before?"

"No, but I'm sure you could teach me."

Colour rose in her cheeks again. She turned away from him and glanced around at the rose garden. She didn't have the heart to just sit and stare at the wonderful place, she wanted to explore. The Master was panting a little beside her as they neared the trellis, his breath rushing out in thick plumes.

"Would you like to sit down?" she offered, placing a hand on his bare forearm.

The hairs rose at her touch and he stiffened a little, the warmth from the sun making sweat break out underneath his fur. Swallowing thickly, he nodded and allowed her to guide him towards the bench. He sat down heavily.

"Do you mind if I have a look around?"

He shook his head.

"You'll call if you need me?"

"Yes. Go. Explore."

She hesitated a moment longer, her bright eyes boring into his own as though she were searching for something. Reluctantly, she straightened up, her fingers threading through the coarse hair on his forearm until her hand dropped away into thin air.

As she slowly inched her way back through the snow, her cloak hiding her from view, the Master looked down at his bare arm and felt that jolt inside again. His body trembled, the ghost of her touch still hot on his fur. He watched her explore as he slowly regained the ability to breathe normally.

 

 

 

He wasn't sure how long she was gone for. When she returned in the rose garden, he felt propelled to dispel any bad blood that lingered between them. He wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, but before he could fully comprehend what was happening, he had thrown a large snowball at her. It barely caught the edge of her skirts, but she gasped out in surprise before turning to him.

Her mouth slowly turned into a smile. His chest swelled upon seeing it. So much so, that he bent down to start scooping up more snow.

"No, that's not fair!" Belle laughed, hastily scooping up her own snowball. She threw it before he'd finished his, catching him square on the top of the head.

Snow exploded into is eyes and mouth. He snorted it out, laughter bubbling up inside him as he finished his snowball and hurled it at her.

This time she managed to duck away from his assault.

Fuelled by one another, the snow-ball battle commenced. Whenever he hit her with a snowball or she managed to hit him, her laughter would trill out into the still air and strike at every nerve ending until he felt utterly exposed. Her hair was almost entirely out of its braid and her cheeks were bright pink. She looked so carefree in that moment, that he wanted nothing more than to keep her that way for as long as possible.

That, and he also wanted to take advantage of her giggling to throw the king of all snowballs at her.

She didn't see it coming. The ball hit her square in the chest making her cry out as she was thrown back into the snow, arms flaring wide to try and fail to catch herself.

Guilt stabbed through him.

"Belle?!" He ran across the snow towards her, dropping down to his knees at her side. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to –HEY!"

Belle erupted into fresh laughter as he shook the remnants of snow from his flanks. She laughed until she could barely breathe, her sides hurting as she tried to scoop up another handful of snow. The Master saw what she was doing and grabbed both her wrists and pressed them into the snow.

"Uh, uh, I'm not foolish enough for you to do that again!"

Her laughter subsides a little. She stared up at him openly, her wrists twitching under his palms. He released them, feeling awkward at their position. He flinched when she reached up to brush a few more snowflakes out of his fur, the sensation soft and caressing, enough to make his eyelids flutter shut for a moment.

Clearing his throat, he shook his head out of reach and stood to his full height. Extending a hand he said, "Get up, you'll be the one getting sick if you stay down there."

Belle ignored him. She flopped back in the snow and started moving her arms and legs in wide arcs, up and down, up and down, until she finally sat up and climbed out of the snow. "There!" she grinned triumphantly, "A snow angel! It was one of my favourite things about winter in the village; who could make the best snow angel."

"It's very beautiful," he murmured, not taking his eyes away from her profile.

She shot him a fleeting smile, before a tremor ran through her. Hugging her arms tightly under her cloak she said, "You were right. Let's get inside before I do get ill."

The Master guided her back towards the castle. Upon entering he called Mrs. Potts to prepare a warmth bath for the girl and to make sure she was well looked after. As she was led away, Belle glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled sweetly.

That time, he knew his heart was in trouble.

 

 

 

He was a little disappointed that night when Belle didn't come to his bedside and read. He had grown accustomed to her presence, if under duress initially. When Mrs. Potts brought him his supper, he asked what had happened to the girl.

"Oh, bless her heart! She was ever so talkative as she bathed," Mrs. Potts stated. "However, as soon as she was wrapped up and dried, she started yawning. She fell asleep within the hour, reading in the armchair."

"Ah," he sighed. "I suppose that can't be helped. It was a rather adventurous afternoon."

"Did you enjoy her company, Master?"

He froze, the teacup to his lips. "What are you suggesting, Mrs. Potts?"

The teapot remained unfazed. "She's a sweet girl, sir. I'm sure she wasn't dull on your tastes as the others were."

"No, I suppose she wasn't," he admitted. "If she wishes to join me for a late brunch tomorrow, I would delight in her company, however if she wanted to rest more, let her. I feel as though she hasn't had that in a long time."

Mrs. Potts pressed her china lips together and allowed herself a moment of pride. She wasn't going to press the issue; the Master's thoughtfulness was a step in the right direction and she wasn't about to shatter that bead of hope.

By the time the Master retired to bed, he felt lighter than he had in years. He didn't want to chalk it all up to being a fluke, however, his history didn't bode well for either of them. Still, he wanted to enjoy the happiness while it lasted. He only wished that he could watch Belle read by candlelight as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? :D


	15. Chapter XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely reviews on this story. It really helps motivate me to write more. Thank you for being so wonderful :D

** Chapter XIII **

 

 

The Master flinched awake.

The room was cool and dark, the ghost of dawn leeching the darkness from the sky beyond the curtains. Everything was still and silent, not even the birds in the forest had awoken yet. His nightshirt was ripped and stained with his own sweat, however his head felt a little better for having slept all night. Rolling over onto his back, he felt his arm brush against something cold.

He jerked upright, claws splayed, ready to lash out.

Belle didn’t stir from where she was curled up on the very edge of the mattress, the laces at the front of her chemise unravelling from where she’d turned in her sleep.

Retracting his claws, the Master swallowed thickly, the drumming of his heart growing louder in his ears. The mattress was a rumpled excuse for a bed, her own was no doubt much more pleasant for her young body, however she had chosen to spend the night in his nest. Why? The thought of her blindly trailing through the castle in the darkness made a tremor run down his spine.

Sitting a little higher on the pillows, the Master leaned over Belle and tried to gently coax her awake. She appeared to be a deep sleeper for she turned on her side, facing away from him. He frowned in concentration, reaching out against with his large paw. He placed it on her waist and gently dragged her body across the mattress, so that she wasn’t about to fall off the edge and onto the hard floor.

A soft sigh escaped her lips.

He froze, not daring to take the weight of his palm off her waist.

When she shifted again, he was sure to whip his hand away as though he’d been burned.

He pressed himself down into the mattress, staring up at the beds canopy, clenching his hands into fists, the long claws digging into his palm. He felt flustered all over again, only this time he was completely lucid. With a disgruntled sigh, he tried to let his mind relax enough to go back to sleep.

 

 

One long, torturous hour later, he was still awake.

His body was hot and flustered, and parts of him seemed to twitch whenever Belle sighed or moaned in her sleep. He nearly pierced his lip with a fang when he felt her turn onto her back, her limbs splaying outward, the silky soft chemise rising up over her legs. It made his mouth water as he chanced a glance down at her; the covers had been kicked aside in the heat emanating from his body, and Belle had her black hair fanned out across the mattress.

The sight alone made his mouth run dry.

The lacings at her collar had widened, unravelling whenever she moved. His claws itched to reach out and pluck at the lacings, wondering how far they’d spill open with just a little tug here or there.

He didn’t know how long it took him to build up the courage to do so, but the world was lightening outside. He could see a little clear with each passing minute. Hooking one claw under the lace, he slowly drew it out of its loop, the whisper of silk on silk sending shivers throughout his body. Belle didn’t stir as the long length of silk was freed –until he got to the fourth loop.

She frowned and huffed softly, twisting her head from side-to-side. He froze, panicked, and pressed himself onto the bed, trying to relax as much as possible as she sat upright. He watched through heavily lidded eyes, as Belle frowned through the gloom, glancing around her as though confused to where she was. Her chemise spilled open around her elbows, though he could only see the pale slope of her shoulder blades, partially covered by her dark hair.

He swallowed thickly.

Raking a hand through her hair, Belle tugged the collar up around her shoulders and settled back on her side, leaving more distance between her and the Master. He told himself it was an unconscious act, that she was just changing position and getting comfortable.

He didn’t try to touch her again for the rest of the morning.

 

 

 

 

For the remainder of that week, they took walks through the gardens and grounds and on the rare day where it was actually sleeting, they spent some time in the library together discussing their favourite genres and comparing the best and worst books they’d read recently. It was all in good fun, and the Master found himself chuckling a little more. He even found himself eyeing the titles of the books Belle had spoken off and silently promised to read them at some point, so that he could gain a better understanding of why she adored the literature so much.

They dined together more often than not. Now that they had broken that wall that had been between them, the Master felt a little more comfortable in not wearing a veil or a mask at the dining table. He was aware that he was still hideous, and preferred to eat in the darker corner of the table, however Belle didn’t seem to mind.

A time or two, she had even changed places so as to sit nearer to him.

It sent a little thrill running through him to sit so close to her so that he could smell the soft lavender scents that ghosted over her skin. She seemed to be unperturbed by any of the raw musk that emanated from him. After that first meal where they’d sat side-by-side, he’d promised himself to bathe more regularly.

He found that, whilst he came to like Belle’s ability to tell tales of her village, he did not think too highly of the village itself. It was one of the small villages that often provided some sort of business with the castle itself, back in the day, be it wools, food, wine or servants whom would work in the castle itself. Nowadays, all that had faded into memory, and the Master was coming to realise just how much young Belle had suffered. Perhaps she could have offered her services to the castle, or perhaps even asked the Master to teach her Latin or Greek. His Greek was appalling and his Latin was rusty at best, however the opportunity would have been there. He could have helped, in some small way.

His ears must have flattened out against his head. Belle’s tiny hand slid into his with such ease that it was he who flinched away at her touch.

“Sorry,” she bit on her lip, worry flooding her eyes. “You went awfully quiet. Is there something troubling you.”

“Your village,” was the terse reply.

“What about it?”

“You needn’t have suffered in the manner that you did.” He turned his eyes to look into her own and she barely blinked. “I feel responsible.”

“All you need to feel responsible for, is that you have gotten me away from that village, if only for a short while. It’s always nice to breathe a different kind of air.”

He smirked to himself. “Your attitude has changed drastically in the last few weeks.”

Belle tried to suppress a smile and failed as she tucked a loose hair behind her ear. “I’m finding you better company each day, Master. I enjoy your wit.”

“My wit?”

“I find you funny,” she clarified. “In a charming way.”

“You find my charming?” he couldn’t keep the teasing edge to his voice. For a moment he worried he had overstepped a boundary, however that feeling was quickly smothered when he saw Belle’s lip turn up a little.

“Sometimes.”

“Are you no longer afraid of me?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, her wide eyes staring up at him. “No,” she said softly, giving his hand a soft squeeze. “I can’t say that I am.”

Words knotted together on his tongue, all fighting to spill out.

Unfortunately, at that moment the doors swung open and Mrs. Potts wheeled a large trolley into the room. “Lunch is ready my dears!” she chimed out. “The chef thought you might like some _Sole meunière_ this afternoon. He’s in a good mood, so I highly recommend it!”

“Oh, this smells wonderful!” Belle exclaimed as she lifted the silver dome off her dish. “It’s been years since I’ve had a proper _sole_.” She went over to the small table and quickly placed a napkin over her lap.

The Master sighed quietly to himself, before heaving himself from his comfortable chair and going over to sit at the table.

As they cut into their meal, the Master glanced over at Belle across the table. She was smiling brightly to herself, looking like a child who was being rewarded with cake for dinner, or to stay up late to oversee a party their parents were hosting. He remembered a rare few moments from his own childhood, where Mrs. Potts had scowled him, but let him watch a masquerade from the servant’s corridor.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he found himself asking.

Belle looked up, her smile lingering on her lips. “No; I’m an only child. Yourself?”

“Only child,” he said. “Father didn’t think he needed more than the one heir.”

“Not even if you were to fall ill?”

“My father was an optimist,” he stated bitterly. “A cruel, depraved optimist.”

Belle let her eyes drop back down to her plate. The Master worried that his bitter attitude creeping into almost every moment with the girl, was destroying any budding germ of hope growing inside him. He froze when he heard her chair scrape back and the small heels of her boots clicked on the floor. His back slammed straight against the chair as she brushed a tuft of matted, dark hair out of his eyes.

She was so _close_.

So close he could smell the soft touch of perfume dotted behind her ear. When had she started wearing perfume? His head felt fuzzy, he couldn't really piece everything together. She was so close, so small and soft. His hands trembled where they clenched the arms of the chair. His heart drummed loudly in his ears and he could feel the sweat beading up beneath his fur.

“You have very interesting eyes,” she murmured, more to herself.

His ears pricked to attention, but he barely dared to breathe. Even sitting down, he towered over her. It was perplexing, seeing someone so close and yet, not cowering before him.

“Belle?”

“Yes?”

“I … I …” He searched her eyes as he tripped over the words he wished he could say. Any words would have sufficed at that point, even his broken Greek.

If she took note of the position she had placed him in, Belle backed away from his chair, her touch leaving a burning imprint on his brow. A pink colour hued her tense cheeks and her jaw was clenched just a little tighter. She kept her head and eyes down as she seated herself and picked up her knife and fork.

“You should eat,” she said lightly, her tone not matching with the crease between her brows. “You will regret not finishing such a lovely dish.”

He ate automatically, his claws fumbling awkwardly as ever with the minuscule cutlery. Her persevered, skewering a large chunk or two of fish with his claw whenever she wasn’t looking. Lunch concluded soon after that, and Belle dismissed herself.

“I’ll be out in the stables if you require me,” she said over her shoulder.

The Master watched her go.

 

 

Later that evening, he was prowling in his bedchamber, fuming and smacking at the already battered furniture with his heavy fists. He felt surges of anger bubble up out of nowhere, but wasn’t able to discern where they came from or why. It was infuriating.

“Master, what is troubling you?” Lumiére asked as he watched the sky grow black outside.

“I have been nothing but cordial to this girl and she acts as though I owe her more than simple kindness! I thought we’d outgrown this nonsense, but here we are! Yet again!”

“Perhaps you should consider that this girl is used to a harder way of living,” the candelabra said. “Perhaps she is feeling guilty about not seeing her father, or other people her own age and … human.”

The Master shot his servant a scathing look.

Lumiére flinched. “Have you asked if something is the matter?”

The Master shook his mane of hair and ground his sharp teeth together. What good would it do him, grovelling for answers? There was no need to make such a spectacle of himself. Outside the balcony doors, the sky darkened, thunder roared and lightning cracked through the silence. The hairs stood up on his back, his skin prickling as the hiss of lightning was swallowed up by more thunder. The noise made his bones quake.

He’d never been fond of storms.

“Master,” Lumiere hedged. “Perhaps the girl isn’t pleased with the turn in weather. Maybe it would be polite to see how she’s doing?”

It was an obvious ploy to get them in the same room together. There was a small part of the Master that dared hope Belle would even open the door to him. With a strained look at his servant, he bowed his head. “Yes,” he grumbled to himself. “It would be the polite thing to do.”

Straightening himself to his full height, he left his chamber and made his way across the castle to Belle’s.

Once outside her door, he raised a large fist and knocked. The sound echoed hollowly in the room beyond. She did not come to answer the door, nor make any other sound that she’d heard him. Agitated, he knocked again.

Nothing.

His anger was rising to the surface now. He could feel is boiling in his veins and burning him throughout. Gritting his teeth so hard his jaw throbbed, he pounded the door one last time. Still, there was no answer.

“How dare the little wench ignore me!” he seethed, grabbing the door handle and forcing it open.

The room beyond was empty, the rain cascading down the tall French windows that led out to the small stone balcony that overlooked the grounds. The Master frowned, his ears pressed down against his head as he scanned the room with his eyes, just in case Belle was trying to secrete herself in a little nook. Alas, she was nowhere in the room.

“Where is she?” he murmured to himself.

“Last I heard, she was on her way down to the kitchens!” Madame Vendrobe stated in a grand manner. “Whatever she wants down there in that sweaty cave is beyond my intellect!”

The Master smiled wryly. “Thank you, Madame, I shall see what’s keeping her.”

“See that you do, sir!”

Pulling the door closed, he hugged his cloak a little tighter to ward off the chill in the air and made his way towards the staircase that would lead him down to the kitchens.

 

 

 

The kitchen air was stuffy, the hot air from the ovens already making her face steamy with sweat, but everything about it felt homely and Belle revelled in that feeling. She swiped a hand across her forehead, getting her hair out of her eyes, and was almost certain she’d smeared flour over her skin but she didn’t care. She hadn’t done baking in years, since her Mama had died, and flour wasn’t exactly easy to come by. She’d had a few chickens that produced a small batch of eggs, but those had been to sell for profit, not to idly bake whenever a cloud passed over the sun.

Now, however, she was in a castle with an abundance of food that never seemed to spoil. This was something she was happy to indulge in, something she could do just for the sake of remembering her Mama. She liked the rhythm of baking, the measurements and ingredients needed. It was almost like working on a mechanical project; everything needed to be measured and prepared just so, otherwise the end product would surely fail.

So far she had made some pie crusts for desserts, and had already placed a simple chocolate cake in the oven to bake, and now she was working on an assortment of biscuits.

It was what Mama did on a rainy day. She’d missed keeping up with the traditions they’d shared.

There was a low rumble from somewhere up ahead, but Belle tried to tune it out.

A few of the kitchen staff gasped. Belle looked up and jumped in shock. The Master stood in the doorway, his mere presence dwarfing everything and everyone in the kitchen. He looked above most things, a dense, dark presence with glittering eyes.

“I thought I’d find you here,” his low voice rumbled through the air.

Belle felt her lips twitch into a smile. “Well, you found me.”

Why was she feeling light-headed? It must be the heat from all those ovens being on at once, she really should have taken that break under the veranda like Mrs. Potts had suggested an hour ago.

The Master moved around the table, bowing his head to inspect what she’d been up to. Suddenly, she found that she wanted him to be impressed by something as inane as baking. She wanted him to admire her quirks and not judge her for it. She felt sweaty and awkward as his straightened up over the table. She didn’t realise she was ringing her hands in her apron pocket until he spoke, jerking her out of her musings.

“You’ve certainly been busy today.”

“Y-yes,” she swallowed. “I always like to bake on rainy days. I thought maybe it would be nice to have afternoon tea …” She trailed off, feeling embarrassed. Heat was spreading to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” he said, his eyes staring down into her own. Her cheeks grew hotter. “Do you require any assistance?”

“Oh, Mrs. Potts was here earlier, but she thought she wasn’t needed much so –”

“I meant from me.”

“Oh … Oh!” Her face was on fire now. She ducked her head down and tried to bite back a smile. Drawing in deep breaths, she looked up at him and nodded. “If you’d like to, I’d appreciate the company.”

She hadn’t seen him smile until then, she realised. It somehow made his entire countenance softer; the coarse fur seemed to take on a silkier quality, the fangs gleamed like pearls and the eyes, as shrouded as they were, shone a beautiful, piercing blue. She faltered for a moment as he slung his cloak onto a hook and came to the table, sidling up beside her. The warmth of his body burned through her, but she tried her best to focus.

She decided to start with something easy; biscuits. You could never have too many, after all.

Somewhere in the process of mixing the dough, the Master had knocked over a pot of flour and sent a white cloud up into the air. There was a lot of coughing and as soon as the powdery dust had settled, Belle looked up and burst into giggles. The Master was covered in flour; it clung to the finer hairs in his mane as well as his eyelashes and stuck in fluffy clumps along his threadbare shirt. He snorted, flour being blown off his nose. Belle continued to laugh, her face already aching.

“You think this is amusing?” his voice rumbled through her chest. “You’re hardly in the clear, _mademoiselle_.”

Belle glanced at her reflection in a hanging copper pot and burst out laughing again. “Oh goodness! We look like the silliest ghosts ever!”

As she laughed, clouds of flour puffed off her clothing. She reached up to shake it from her hair and dust her clothes off. She then turned to the Master and starting ruffling it from his mane before she even realised what she was doing.

When she did, they both froze.

Belle swallowed, removing her hand. “Sorry … I didn’t intend for you to be covered in flour.”

“It was my fault,” the Master said in a strained voice. He didn’t sound angry, and Belle frowned at that. He’d ruined a shirt, why was he not yelling at her? A month ago, he probably would have. “Besides, I have a quicker way of getting the worst of it off.”

She stepped back, watching as the Master bent down on all fours, like a huge, ferocious creature, and shook his entire body, like a dog that’d just emerged from water. White clouds exploded into the air as he shook the flour from his body. Belle had to hide her smile behind her hands as she watched. It was almost endearing, the way this huge creature was showing such mannerisms in front of her.

Standing back up the Master said, “That’s no doubt the best I can do, until I have a bath.”

Belle almost offered her services on the matter, but she caught herself just in time.

Embarrassment flooded through her like a poison, burning every part of her inside that was good and pure and replacing it with the prickling sensation of Grégoire’s hands on her flesh. She felt queasy as the memory assaulted her, the blood draining from her face as she braced herself against the table. It was far too hot in the kitchens. She needed air but felt unable to move.

“Belle?”

A heavy hand on her shoulder made the clouds faded from her vision.

“Would you like to return to your rooms and rest?”

She looked up into blue eyes –had they always been so blue? She shuddered, giving the Master a mute nod as she extracted her hands from the table and walked out of the kitchen as if in a daze. She felt the weight of his gaze follow her out, but she knew that if she turned to face him, she would cry.

 

 

 _‘He ruined you. Ruined you! Ruined you! Ruined you!_ ’

“Stop!” she hissed through gritted teeth as she stopped outside her door. “I’m _not_ ruined! I’m perfectly fine …” she faltered, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. Tensing she pushed the door inwards. “I’m fine.”

Closing the door, she didn’t even stop to make idle chit-chat with Madame Vendrobe. Belle strode straight to her writing desk by the French doors and hastily dipped her quill into a pot of ink. The scratching of the nib on the paper made her teeth stand on edge. Her writing was rough, shaky, not like her usual penmanship at all. Her Papa would definitely feel something was amiss if she didn’t write it out again, neatly. For now she just needed to get her thoughts out.

 

‘ _Papa,_

_You have always taught me to trust my head as well as my heart, but now I fear I am going mad, like the villagers always said I was! I am becoming enamoured with my incarcerator! He is a great, hulking beast with claws and fangs and I am almost certain he has horns as well. Yet, when he talks to me, I feel listened to. When he touches me, I do not feel afraid. When he allows me free reigns in certain parts of the castle, I feel as though he is beginning to trust me. I have no had such feelings in a long time, Papa, as you know, and I am afraid I don’t know what to do with them?_

_I think of him too, Papa. I fear they are thoughts that shall send me to the pits of Hell. Could you forgive your daughter these thoughts, Papa? Could you forgive me for thinking of this unholy creature in such a manner simply because he showed me a little kindness and trust? I fear I am also enchanted by his company and the curious manner in which he and his servants are dwelling! It’s a wondrous thing to behold and I am almost wish to say, I do not want to return home._

_I must return to you, Papa. However, I long to revel in the mystery of this castle. The Master has a charming quality to him and it terrifies me how much I seem to crave his attention_.’

 

The stopped writing and sat back.

The sweat had cooled over her clammy skin and her insides were twisted into knots, making her feel queasy. She reread what she had written and felt emotions burn through her once again, making her throat feel tight.

“I can’t send this,” she breathed to herself. “Of all people, my Papa cannot know how I think of the Master!”

She screwed up the parchment into her hands, tearing and shredding as much as it would allow before hurrying over to the fireplace. Tossing the letter within, she collapsed into the armchair and watched as the fire licked and blackened the creamy parchment before it caught alight. She watched as the black ink burned away into smoke that plumed up the chimney. As her mind settled down, she unlaced and kicked her boots off before curling up into the armchair. A few candles flickered to life around the room, giving it a cosy atmosphere. No one else was allowed to know her thoughts on the Master. Those thoughts were hers and hers alone, whether she acted on them or not.

She smiled softly to herself, replaying the afternoon’s events in her mind.

Something was shifting between her and the Master, something new and exciting and very different to anything she’d ever experienced before. It made her heart beat giddily at the thought as she changed for bed and settled down with a candle on her bedside table.

That evening she read until she fell asleep. She wouldn’t be able to recall what the chapter had been about, but that didn’t stop her from smiling in her sleep as the candles went out, bathing her chamber in a comfortable darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my lovelies, this is to be the final update whilst I am away on holidays! I will be gone for three weeks -back on the 19th August -so please leave lots of love and reviews for me to read in my down time ;) Hope you all have a great summer!


	16. Chapter XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been a while! I was away on holiday for three weeks, and in the few weeks since being back I have barely had a chance to myself, since everyone I know seems to be getting married!

** Chapter XIV **

 

 

 

 

 

“What happened to the other girls who came before me?”

The Master looked up, his ears standing upright at the unexpected question. He swallowed a mouthful of wine and let it rush through his system. “The other girls?” he echoed.

“Yes,” Belle nodded, her long black curls bobbing with the motion. “What happened to them?”

“I’ve told you. They got a dowry and a much better life than I could have offered,” he replied stiffly, “there’s nothing more to be said on the matter.”

“Do you still maintain contact with any of them? Do they express their gratitude for what you have helped them achieve by way of status and marriage?”

“No,” he said simply. “They do not.”

Belle pulled a face, tucking a curl behind her ear and returning her gaze to the book in her lap. “That seems rather discourteous of them.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Personally?” she cocked an eyebrow, slipping a finger between the pages of her book to keep her place. “You offer an amazing opportunity. If I wanted to, I could learn twelve new languages from the library alone. The history of the castle is magnificent and the grounds alone take my breath away whenever I step out onto my balcony. I find it hard to imagine turning my back on this place.”

As she spoke, the Master as a blush crept up her throat to her cheeks. She did look especially lovely tonight the candlelight painting her skin golden and illuminating the lush darkness of her curls. The nightgown she wore reached the floor with lace at the hem and cuffs, however when she curled up in the armchair, as she was prone to do, he caught sight of a smooth, white leg and dainty little feet.

The dreamlike manner in which she expressed her awe at his castle touched something within him.

Leaning back on his pillows he offered her what he hoped was a smile. “The girls do not write to me, as they have no recollection of me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, head cocked to the side.

“As soon as they leave the grounds, the memories fade away. The further they walk from the estate, the dimmer the memories become. It makes them easier to forget once they’ve returned to their regular lives.”

“It isn’t their regular lives,” Belle countered. “They’ve come back thrice as rich!”

“Then they are able to pave the road ahead for a better and brighter future.”

Belle propped her chin in her hand and studied the creature through the golden haze of the candles. The dark, coarse hair –no matter how tamed –gave him a wild air and the deep-set blue eyes always made her thirsty, as though she were looking at a pool of fresh water and forbidden to drink from it. “You truly are a remarkable man.”

“I haven’t been a man for a long time,” he sighed.

Belle watched as his ears dropped into shadow, his eyes staring through the blankets and into nothing. She inwardly cursed herself, feeling horrid for dredging up such painful memories. She had been curious at how isolated the Master kept himself and had simply wanted to understand him better.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to pry.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

And yet, his words did nothing to soothe her.

Perhaps she had outstayed her welcome for the evening? It was getting later after all and she’d rather not have to hurry back to her bedchamber as dawn broke.

“I think it’s time I went to bed,” she said.

She stood up, brushing her dress down to cover herself, tucked the book under her arm and made for the door. The Master was so deep in his own thoughts that he didn’t call out until she was almost through the door.

“Belle, wait!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you object to … staying?”

Her fingers tightened on the doorknob. Her heart beat heavily in her chest. Licking her dry lips, she fought the urge to hurry back to him. When she spoke, her voice was strained; “I think it would be best to rest, Master. I’ll see you at breakfast. Good night.”

She couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t look back.

Only when the door closed behind her, was she able to breathe.

 

 

 

 

 

Back in her bedchamber a hot bath was ready and waiting for her at the hearth, the fire crackling cheerfully in its grate. Suddenly feeling weary, Belle pulled at the lacings of her nightgown and let the cotton pleats pool around her feet before stepping into the bath. The water was hot, a shock to her cold skin, but she sank down up to her chin and let herself shiver with delight.

She made quick work of washing her hair and then hanging it over the edge of the tub so the warmth of the fire would dry it.

The soap bubbles were fizzling out and her muscles ached from a long day. The water lapped gently over her knees and breasts whenever she sat upright against the copper tub. She tipped her head to one side and stared into the flames.

Did the Master have a bath tub big enough to fit him? Or did the servants simply throw a bucket of soapy water over him and hope for the best?

A smile touched at Belle’s lips as she slid back into her water. Her mind drifted as she thought of the muscular creature drenched, his thick fur dripping onto the stone floor, the thud-thud-thud of his heavy tread echoing off the walls.

How would that wet fur feel between her fingers?

Would his horns and claws gleam when they were soaked and polished?

A tremor ran through her as she gently brushed her short nails over her stomach and down towards her thighs.

She froze, her fingertips resting gently against her navel. No, she wouldn’t do that. If she did, she’d only be proving those villagers right. She wasn’t a whore or whatever else they called her. She was still pure, having never lain with a man. And yet … there was something about the Master the intrigued her. He had invited her to spend the night after all. She had caught those deep blue eyes looking over at her when he thought she was reading her book or sewing.

Every time she caught him looking at her, her insides would burn.

She let herself sink further into the water, letting her hands and nails rake over her flesh, through her hair; squeezing, scratching and kneading every inch she could reach –all except for down there –leaving her breathless as squirmed in the confines of the tub.

Closing her eyes, she let her mind wonder to hands that were bigger, heavier than hers, the sharp scratch of claws on her skin and the rough urgency combing through her hair. Her heart was beating quickly, her breathing loud and almost –

A low moan escaped her lips.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and pressed against the tub, her knees drawn to her chest. Suddenly the water felt cold, her skin pebbling as a shiver ran through her. Belle hastily climbed out of the tub, clawed a robe on over her cold skin and tossed her hair over her shoulder. She brushed it through, her hands shaking as she crouched before the fire.

‘ _What am I doing?_ ’ she thought, trembling. ‘ _To think of the Master in such ways is obscene!_ ’

She tried to calm herself down. These were merely thoughts, they could happen, she assumed, when one became comfortable with another person. Perhaps she would have felt this way towards a young man in the village, had any taken her fancy.

Yet, Belle had no idea was the first fluttering of infatuation felt like.

Her skin was still a little damp in some places as she hugged the long robe tighter around her body. She was not the first girl to live at this castle. Perhaps the others had felt as she had, plucked from lowly positions only to become enamoured with the lifestyle of royalty. Perhaps the Master had bedded those girls, and paid them off for their silence?

Not that they’d remember any of it anyway. The money was simply to ensure that no questions were asked about the girls no longer being ‘pure’.

‘ _Why does it even matter?_ ’ she asked herself. ‘ _Do you feel the same desire to be with him? Do you want to feel his hot breath on your skin, the weight of his body beside your own?_ ’

She clenched her jaw at the thought, but didn't refute it.

' _Then don't ask silly questions, girl!_ '

 

 

 

 

 

 

~0~

 

 

 

 

 

The emptiness of the cavernous chamber is enough to make the hairs quiver all over his body. There’s something in the air, something that tastes bitterly of rejection, and it was taking all of his willpower not to stalk the castle, tearing up anything he could sink his claws into. He’d banished his servants shortly after Belle had left. Candlewax dripped down onto the stone floor and from the mantle, creating hardening pools of wax on the hearthrug.

He felt restless and angry, but too exhausted to get up and vent his frustrations.

He was fully prepared to snarl at anyone who disturbed him. When the door clicked open the threat died like a weight in his throat when he saw Belle’s pale face through the gloom.

“B-Belle?”

“Did I wake you?” she whispered.

He shook his head, hoping she could see. His tongue was too thick in his mouth to give a proper answer.

He felt as though he was watching a scene play out before him; the maiden closed the chamber door and tiptoed over the cold stone floor toward his bed, perching on the very edge, just out of reach of danger, but close enough that he could feel the weight of her presence tugging at the corner of his blanket.

“Are you –troubled?” he managed to ask.

“Not especially.”

He caught sight of her hair in the firelight; it was shiny and damp. She must have just bathed; he could smell the floral aroma in the air. Forcing himself to sit up against the mangled pillows, he grunted, “Is there something on your mind?”

“Did you invite the other girls to bed?” she asked, the words tumbling out in a rush.

He froze, his skin hot and prickly. “No. Never.”

She tensed. Nodded. Her hands twisting her nightgown.

“I didn’t mean to imply anything,” he continued.

He flinched when Belle placed a hand over his paw; her palm barely circled around two of his digits. Looking up into her eyes, there was no denying the rush of warmth inside him. He could feel a burning desire bubbling in the recesses of his mind, too dangerous to take hold of. The air was suddenly too thin, making breathing difficult. He watched as those slim fingers tugged the pale lacings of the nightdress open, the cotton folds drooping open to reveal more of her white skin beneath. The candlelight caught on her collarbones and a long shadow masked the glimmer of her breasts.

“Will you touch me?”

The words were testing his resolve. Was this a challenge to overcome or a desirable invitation to succumb to?

Reaching out with his paw, the Master brushed a wave of damp, black hair away from her shoulder, exposing the smooth slope of her neck. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined as his palm stroked downward. Her eyelids fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping her lips. He was distracted by the fullness of her lips that he didn’t notice his claws cutting open her flesh until he was cupping her breast through the nightgown.

“Dear God!” he snapped angrily.

“What is it?” Belle panicked, her eyes wide and watery.

Launching to the other side of the bed, the Master hunched over the edge, his muscles tensed and his body shaking with self-loathing. “I cut you!” he spat. “I’ve ruined you and now look at you!”

“Ruined me?” Belle looked down at herself. Her mouth opened in mute horror at the scar. The tenderly prodded at the razor thin red lines skimming over her collar and frowned. There was no sting, no pain. She hadn’t even felt it. Looking back at the Master’s hunched form she said, “I’m fine, sir. You haven’t hurt me.”

“Pain or not, you’re scarred!” he snapped. “I cannot be near you! If I cannot control this beastly side of me now, how do you expect things to end?”

She didn’t respond.

Looking over his shoulder he saw her staring at him, pain in her green eyes. The nightgown was pooled around one elbow where his paw had forced the fabric aside. “I could never forgive myself if I hurt you more than I have.”

Still, she said nothing. The silence infuriated him. He turned his back on her and gestured towards the door, “Leave now.”

“Master I –”

“I told you to leave!”

He waited to hear her soft tread walk out of his chamber and put the matter to rest and never speak of it again. He did not expect to feel the coolness of her palms on his hunched back. He didn’t dare to turn around. He felt her kneeling on the mattress behind him, felt her stomach pressing to his back. The more flesh he felt against his, the calmer his mind became. He didn’t even flinch when he felt her head rest against his shoulder, her fingers slowly stroking through the fur, tentatively, as though she wasn’t sure if he would lash out at her.

They sat that way for a long while, the flickering of the candlelight casting long, dark shadows to dance in the gloom.

“Belle?”

“Do you want me to leave?” her voice was uncertain and quiet. It made his heart sink that she felt as dejected as he did.

Her fingers continued to slowly stroke back and forth through his tangled fur. It made him feel even uglier than he was. “No,” he grumbled. “I still want you to stay.”

“Then let’s both lie down and try to sleep.”

He found himself doing as she said, even though she sounded more exhausted than demanding. He adjusted to lie down on his back, facing the battered canopy overhead. His muscles were tense and rigid as he listened to the hush of fabric as Belle slid into bed beside him. There was enough space between them to fit another man, however neither dared to bridge the gap.

The silence stretched on between them. The Master was beginning to believe Belle had fallen asleep when she spoke softly.

“I feel as though I’m betraying myself in some way,” she whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“Back in the village …” she paused, her throat growing tight. “Grégoire spread rumours about me. He always said that if he couldn’t have me, then no one else would. I came to grow used to being alone, just Papa and I.”

The Master hummed.

“Sometimes I feel as though the rumours are worse now than if those vile things had happened.”

“It hurts you because you’re innocent and pure,” the Master’s deep voice vibrated through the mattress and her bones. “It wounds you whenever they look unto you with degradation.”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you not agree?”

Belle smiled in the darkness, her fingers toying with the lacings at her chest. She twirled the ribbons around her fingers. “I agree,” she breathed. “However, many of my dreams of late are anything but pure. Perhaps they were all right without truly knowing why. Perhaps I am damaged, ruined, and it’s only here that it came to pass.”

“Belle, you should not care what they think of you.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why can I hear you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

She nearly screamed when she felt his warm palm against her face, his thumb wiping away a silent tear. Her heart jumped into her throat, thudding painfully as the musky scent filled her nose and made adrenaline burst through her veins.

“You are better than them,” his deep voice growled in her ear.

A quiver ran down her spine and she felt her body grow warm and restless. She wanted to lean closer to his warmth, to soak it all in and let herself unravel. She should have felt ashamed but in that moment the faint gleam of his eyes, his fangs, his claws was enough to make her heart skip several beats.

“Beast …” she breathed.

As if sensing the tentative desire thrumming inside her, the Master moved himself back to his side of the bed. He turned onto his side, his back to her, and got comfortable. “Let’s try and rest as much as we can.”

Belle looked at him through the darkness. She was both restless and grateful that he had self-control. She had never felt this way before, certainly not around Grégoire, and now she was enamoured with the raw qualities of a beast? Pulling one of the blankets up around her, she tried to get as comfortable as possible before focusing on nothing but the warm sheets and cool pillow beneath her head.

At some point during the night, her hand reached out as she slept and curled into the thick, rich fur of the creature beside her. He didn’t pull away, he just wanted to hold onto the connection with the girl for as long as possible until dawn broke. When he rolled away from her touch, Belle continued to sleep as though nothing had happened.

 

 

 

 

 

 

~0~

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the most part the household staff didn’t notice too much of how their relationship had developed. They sat closer together during meals, hardly any of which were eaten alone, and spent more time in the gardens and library together. Naturally, there had been times when Belle and the Master had argued about the proper pronunciation of Latin verbs, and it had escalated quite rapidly. To their surprise, however, the Master hadn’t needed much persuasion at all to see his error and apologised to the girl.

The Master even began taking an avid interest whenever Belle ventured out into the empty stables to tinker away at the strange machine she was creating. The Master had even emerged after two afternoons being holed-up, with a list of things for Burtrand to buy from the neighbouring towns. According to him, it was to speed-up whatever the young girl was making.

The real change in their relationship, however, came at night after all the staff had been dismissed for the evening.

Belle didn’t need to wait anymore to creep to the Master’s bedchamber in the dark; now she did whatever she felt like doing as she sat in the armchair as the servants pottered around. Whenever she had a few hours to herself, she’d go into the kitchens and help bake some bread and scones for the following day and engage Mrs. Potts and the other kitchen staff in conversation. Usually it would be about herself and her life before the castle, but there had been stories they told her and it filled her head with such spectacular images that it made her heart swell.

As she looked over the top of her book, she bit back a smile; how would the Master have looked buttoned into a sleek velvet dinner jacket with a brocade waistcoat? Would his hair have been as dark as his fur, or was he paler? Would the blue match his eyes? So many questions waltzed through her mind and it made her excited to envision it all.

“What are you thinking about?” the Master’s deep voice rumbled through her chest.

“I was just thinking of how grand this castle must have been before the enchantment.”

“Curse.”

“Pardon?” Belle frowned.

“Cursed. The castle is cursed. An enchantment is something you wish to happen, or have no qualms about happening. A curse is a hideousness that leeches everything good from the earth and people upon it.”

His words hurt her. “You say that,” she breathed carefully as she set her book aside. His ears twitched, blue eyes narrowed as she stood up and crossed the space between the chair and the bed. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he flinched when her small hands wound around his. “If it weren’t for this curse, I wouldn’t have come to the castle.”

“You could have been employed,” he argued.

“Then I’d have been invisible to you.”

He wanted to refute her, but the truth rang hollow in his ears. He looked away. Belle continued to caress his paws. He turned his paw and closed it around her hands. His other one came up and gently raked her hair aside from her face, slowly smoothing down her cheek as he did so. She sighed softly, her eyelashes fluttering. The noise stirred a hunger inside him. He felt his caress growing a little firmer, more urgent and she was nothing if pliable under his touch.

‘ _STOP!_ ’ his brain warned. ‘ _REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME!_ ’

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. It ached to breathe in that moment.

Belle’s eyes fluttered open, her pupils swollen as she gazed up at him. “Beast … Hold me?”

He held her as gently as he could; his current form didn’t provide much comfort but Belle didn’t complain. She laid her head on the coarse hair of his chest and soon enough fell asleep against him. Drawing in a deep breath, the Master lifts her into his arms and carried her down to her own bedchamber.

 

 

 

 

 

The room was dark and cool as he entered. Madame Vendrobe snorted softly in her sleep but otherwise didn’t wake up. Moving through the silvery light filtering in through the open curtains, the Master placed Belle on top of her blankets. She was still wearing the blue cotton spun dress with the fitted embroidered bodice. It was one of her nicer if simpler village dresses. The few grease stains along the hem proved just how much work she had been doing since those extra gears came yesterday.

Gently lifting her limp body, the Master unfastened the lacings at her back and did his best to undress her without waking her. Blue dress aside, she was left in a thin slip that dipped and rose over her delicate curves. Her black hair curled around her neck and over the pillow as she shifted, tucking an arm under the pillow.

His mouth watered at the sight of her.

It would be so easy just to push her thighs apart with his paw, to run his tongue up over her hips and down into the warm softness between. It had been decades since he had been with a woman. He felt as though that had all happened to another person in another life. He felt the hunger throb inside him.

He could rip the slip open with his claw.

He could control her however he wanted, pin her down and bury himself –

‘ _ENOUGH!_ ’

The Master flinched as if the word had actually been shouted in his ear. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that Mrs. Potts was dabbling in witchcraft and had invaded his perverse thoughts. He glanced around the room just to make sure that he was, in fact, alone.

He cast one last, longing look at Belle –though longing for what, he did not know –before hurrying from the room and bounding through the castle until he got to his bedchamber.

He did not sleep for the rest of the night, haunted by visions of Belle in her slip, and when asked if he was to join the young maiden for breakfast, he declined for the first time in weeks.

Later that same afternoon, Belle got a letter from her Papa.


End file.
